In the new city, long after it had ceased to be new, when it had grown to be the greatest city in the land, there lived a man named G__w. Now, this city was larger than any mortal man, and longer than any lifetime. A generation of families could live and die within its borders and still not know all its secrets. But G__w loved the city, and the city loved him back, and for this reason it revealed many of its secrets to him.
This being the case, it was not strange for G__w to find himself wandering through the maze of the city’s streets. One morning, as dawn was touching the sky, saw G__w passing his time in just this fashion, crossing the third bridge of the great river on which the city was built. By his timepiece it was the fifth hour after midnight, and he heard bells tolling to verify its precision. As the first bell tolled, a mist rolled up from the river and crossed the bridge, and as the last tolling faded, the mist fled, and G__w found himself standing on a bridge not at all like the one he had stepped onto but a moment before.
Because he was used to the strange paths of the city, G__w continued across the bridge, which now seemed to lead into the courtyard of a great castle. He looked about the courtyard, but though its condition was pristine, he saw not the slightest sign of life. He looked all throughout the castle, and still saw no one and nothing but stones which appeared to have been set the day before, stables that seemed never to have held horses, and earth in which his footprints looked to be the first and only it had ever held. But as his eyes continued to roam, he glimpsed a flash of movement in one of the battlements.
G__w found his way to a door which seemed to lead into the castle proper and, once inside, he wandered its halls without urgency, until he found the only battlement with a locked door. Presented with no better ideas, G__w knocked, and presently the sound of a bolt being drawn back was followed by the inward movement of an opening door. Behind this door was the most beautiful woman G__w’s eyes had ever beheld, her expression mixing curiosity and fretfulness in equal portions. Yet again, having no better ideas, G__w did what was only right and proper, and bowed to the lady.
“Greetings, lady of the castle. Forgive my intrusion, but I was not even expecting myself here, and it seems there is not another soul about to whom I may present my courtesies save yourself. All the same, I confess I can think of no lovelier a vision to whom I may make my introductions. My lady, I am G__w, and I would be honored if I might be a guest in your home for such time as you will have me.”
Well, G__w had always been elegant of speech, and the lady of the castle was charmed and captivated. “You are welcome to stay, kind sir. Though this castle is not mine, you are free to rest within its walls, and I will offer you what repast I am able, for the ruler of this castle does not begrudge guests in the least. If I am not mistaken, by your speech you came to this castle at the tolling of the five bells, did you not? You shall be my guest for at least a night, as it is only at the fifth hour that you may cross to the castle or return from whence you came.”
The lady took G__w by the hand, and they spent the day in the castle. She showed him its many secrets, and they dined on it stocks of wine and cheeses, and beheld the rolling countryside surrounding the high stone walls. When night spread her cloak across the sky, the lady of the castle led him, with a touch of her hands on his cheek, to her chambers.
As he prepared to return the next morning, G__w asked the lady come with him. “You have shown me so much of your land, but there are such marvels in the new city that I would delight in bestowing upon you each day. Cross the bridge with me.” But the lady demurred, and explained she could not, for she belonged to this land, and the land belonged a giant wolf with two heads, which had no heart, and therefore could not die or be killed. “Yet surely he would let you spend a day exploring the new city, for think of the wonders of which he might learn upon your return!” said G__w, thinking to free her from the wolf. She found it unlikely, for the wolf had no interest in anything more wonderful than she (and G__w secretly felt there was some merit in this opinion), but she would walk with G__w as far as the bridge.
There, as the lady warned, stood a wolf as large as a house, with two fearsome heads atop its shoulders. “Mortal,” said the wolf, “you may pass, for you are not of my lands, and I hold no claim over you. But the fair lady of the castle belongs to me as does all else you see before you. You will cross the bridge alone, or not at all.”
G__w saw there was nothing to be done, and he crossed the bridge alone. As the five bells finished tolling, he found himself on its opposite shore in the new city’s dawn. G__w vowed to return the next morning, and the morning after that he would not walk alone to the new city. Thus G__w made his way to the greatest library of the new city, and said to the librarians, “Find for me the greatest work of the greatest philosopher.” The book was located in no short order, and the very next morning G__w returned to the bridge with the greatest work of the greatest philosopher tucked beneath his arm.
The five bells tolled, and the fog rolled in, and G__w crossed once more to the castle hidden by the mists. Of the wolf he saw no sign, but barely had he set foot in the courtyard when the lady of the castle came running out to greet him. The reunion was tender (as such reunions always are), but tinged with melancholy. “I had not dared hope for your return, good sir,” she said, “though it grieves me that you will depart.” At this G__w smiled and promised her that today they would both cross the bridge, for he had with him a weapon against which even the most fearsome beast could not stand.
Another day was spent idyllically enjoying the fruits of the castle, but G__w insisted they wake earlier than necessary and arrive at the bridge well before the tolling of the bells. Once again the wolf barred their way, but before it could speak, G__w brought from under his arm the book of philosophy. “Hold, great wolf, for I may be able to convince you my cause is just and my request is reasonable.” The wolf seemed uninterested but, as there was some time yet before the tolling of the bell, he simply shrugged and waited as G__w opened the book of philosophy and began to read.
In only a few minutes, the wolf had fallen into a deep slumber, and when the bell was due to toll, G__w had to gently awaken the lady of the castle as well. They tiptoed quietly across the bridge, but there was no silencing the bells, and as the last bell tolled a mournful howl echoed across the new city. “Alas,” said the lady of the castle, “I fear he will come for me at the tolling of the fifth hour tomorrow. I am grateful for even these few hours of freedom, good sir, but surely he will kill you for your actions!”
“Let us enjoy my city,” said G__w, “and see what marvels we can. We will wake tomorrow and face what will come, and do what we must, for the morning is wiser than the evening.” Thus G__w presented his two beloved ladies to one another, and their company was sweet, all three of them together.
The next morning, before dawn touched the sky, G__w took the lady of the castle’s hands. “My good lady, do you not think we belong with one another?” She nodded. “And would you consent to be my own betrothed?” She allowed as that she would do this instantly. “Then is it not the case that between us, we need but one heart, for we will share it eternally?” Again, she agreed. And as the five bells rang out, G__w gave his heart to her, and she gave hers to him, and so each shared the other’s heart.
The tolling of the bells ceased, and the same howl echoed over the city. In less time than the howl took to fade, the wolf battered down G__w’s door and prepared to tear him to pieces. But before he could close his terrible jaws about G__w’s neck, G__w thrust the lady’s heart into the wolf, and passed his sturdy knife through the wolf’s body. The wolf, now having a heart, died instantly.
“My lady, your heart and my heart are now but one, not two, and you are of both worlds, and you may come and go as you please.” In this way G__w and the lady of the castle spent all their days happily between the castle of mists and the city of secrets, and if they have not died, they are still alive today.
Once upon a time, the lady Night had many attendants, and one of these was Twilight. He lived in the Northern lands of the Winter King, and when the lady Night would put away her cloak, Twilight would keep it furled in the Northern lands. In this way the stars of lady Night’s cloak were often seen in the sky of the Winter King. Twilight was well-known to the men and women who made their homes in the Northern lands, and on many a day he could be found sitting by a hearthfire, where he would turn the shadows into stories on the walls and make magic in the spaces between light and dark. This was all Twilight could do, and though he could no more warm the winter lands than could the fires of men, still his art lent some warmth to those who knew him.
Some men would thank Twilight with gifts of food and wine, and some would sew fine garments for him, and still others would shelter Twilight in their homes. Thus, even when he was not in service to the lady Night, Twilight was always well cared for and wanted for nothing. He would while the evenings away, happy enough to do nothing more than discuss the nature of shadows with such men who had seen his magic. One such happy evening, as the candles and hearthfires burned low and he prepared the lady Night’s cloak, he spoke with a dark-eyed woman about his shadows. She told him stories, and the stories she told him were about his shadows, and captured his heart.
Twilight helped the lady Night spread her cloak, but all the glittering of the stars seemed little more than the flicker of firelight in the a pair of dark eyes. In those days of old, Twilight often wandered from one evening’s firelight to another, but as he furled the lady Night’s cloak that morning, he returned to the same inn where he had met the dark-eyed girl, and he wove all his shadows into the shapes of her stories. Her stories captured his heart, and his shadows captured hers, and they spent long hours lost in a reverie of shadowplay and storytelling.
One fair morning Twilight returned to the inn, but the dark-eyed girl was nowhere to be found. He was thrown into a melancholy, and all his shadows spoke of loneliness and sadness, and cast a gloom over the men and women came to see him. But the next day the dark-eyed girl came to the inn again with a velvet ribbon tied around her wrist. “This is for you,” she said, “so that no matter how distant you are, among the diamonds in Lady Night’s cloak, you will always be able to find my hand.” Twilight took the gift and wove her ribbon into his hair so that he would never lose it.
The whole night through, Twilight’s head was filled with dreams and magic, but after he had folded the lady Night’s cloak, he found himself alone again. For two days he was lost, and his shadows were all of rain and thunderclouds, and all the men of the Northern lands wondered what must be the matter. They tried to warm him with wine and cotton blankets, but he would not sleep or eat. On the third day the dark-eyed girl came back to the inn with the feather of an eagle in her hand. “This is for you,” she said, “so that I will always be able to fly in the night sky with you and we need never be apart while you attend the Lady Night and her stars.” Twilight took the feather from her and tied it to the ribbon in his hair so that he would never lose it.
Twilight spent another night feeling the beat of great wings joining him as he carried the train of the lady Night’s cloak, and he felt the warm updrafts buffet him, only to return once again to an empty hearthfire. Twilight made no shadows at all. Four empty days passed while Twilight did nothing at all, until the the dark-haired girl appeared on the fifth. He took her hands as soon as she appeared before him and begged her to come see the small room where he could not sleep, where he kept lady Night’s folded cloak. He led her up the stairs and she found the room lined in velvet blackness, but from the ceiling, handing by silken threads, were five stars from the Lady Night’s cloak. “When I am away from you, all I feel is emptiness. If I cannot be ever by your side, you may be amongst the stars as am I.” Thus Twilight and the dark-eyed girl stayed the whole day in the velvet walls of Twilight’s room until the time came again to spread the cloak of lady Night.
For three days and three nights, Twilight lay with the dark-eyed girl and spun shadows for her, and she tied ribbons in his hair and told him stories such as that his dreams were filled with colors. But one morning, as the sun began its journey over the earth, he found the dark-eyed girl was gone again. He did not worry for the first day, for she had left before, and on the third day he wondered, but still did nothing. An agonizing week passed by and still she was nowhere to be found. Twilight left his place by the hearthfire and sought her out, searching through the Northern lands, but never finding her.
In the end, he had no other recourse but to petition the lady Night. “Please, my Lady,” Twilight asked her, as the stars cast their glow over the northern ice, “I gave the dark-eyed girl the gift of your stars and my magic, but she is nowhere to be seen in all the Northern lands. You look across the whole world with your eyes, can you not tell me where lies my love?”
The lady Night looked upon her attendant with some measure of sadness and said, “Your eyes do not see as far as mine, and with all the light of my countless stars. Your eyes see as much of themselves as they see of another, and you are in love with yourself as much as with any other mortal, for an aspect of yourself is in all mortals. You, my attendants, may give such gifts of mine as I allow, but your dreams and desires do not make another’s heart whole or true. Look for the bonfire where the mortals revel, and think upon what aspects of yourself my gifts are most worthy to spend.”
Twilight thanked the lady Night, feeling her words pull downward on his heart, and sought out the bonfire of the revelers. There he found his dark-eyed girl. She circled ’round the fire with all the other men and women who danced thoughtlessly amongst the flames, and all of them wore ribbons in their hair. They made crude shadow plays, without magic or art, and which she praised no less extravagantly for all of that. They all of them spun about with feathers of all manner of birds and she was happier than he had ever known her to be. Perhaps she saw him, lingering in the dark, or perhaps she sensed his presence in the flickering of the shadows, as the shadows were ever changing with Twilight’s mood. But he did not stay to be discovered anew. He knew he would not be seen.
Twilight returned to the small inn, and thought on the nature of gifts and stars and the Night. He gave much consideration to love and truth and beauty, and from the library of the lady Night’s cloak he drew forth such volumes on the subjects as would ever be written. At last he closed up all the books of the lady Night, and took down her cloak from his small room. He left black cotton cloth hanging over the walls and windows, and cut all the silken cords holding the stars, sewing them back into the lady’s cloak where they belonged. He strung a few cut glass beads on cotton strings, and hung these from the ceiling. The glass sparkled in its own empty way, and he saw that it would sparkle just the same as the stars in her eyes. Like the magic he had ever made with shadows, he left the beauty of his actions in place, but took back the truth of the stars. He left the room, and left the inn, and sought another village in the Northern lands where he could make his stories out of shadows.
The cold of the Northern lands made its way into Twilight’s body, and he came to like the ice and wind, with their harsh truths. More than anything else he admired the stars, and he no longer made shadow magic by the fires of men. Those who wished to see his creations stood in the snow, as he used the light of the sun, the moon, and the stars. Nor did Twilight’s magic linger in any single village, for he traveled all the Northern lands, and thus his shadows would appear for the briefest of instants before departing. He no longer slept in the homes of men and women, nor was he warmed by their wines, nor did he dress himself in their garments. Though Twilight’s body had become cold, his heart was still warm, and he found new wisdom in seeing those men who stood outside their homes, watching his shadows flicker in the chill air. There were no ribbons in his hair, and he needed no feathers to fly.
He saw great and terrible things, but most of all he saw how men struggled against nature: in themselves and in the world. He thought again of gifts, and the stars, and the lady Night. He drew forth from her cloak such volumes on the subject as would ever be written. He considered honesty and knowledge, and he went to the smallest village furthest to the north, where the struggle to live was far more dear than any other place on the earth, and where the hateful cold of the Winter King was almost too terrible to bear.
Twilight searched for the youngest child in the village and, no sooner had he begun to look than he heard the cries of a newborn. He found the small home into which the child was born. The young boy’s father was an astronomer, star charts lining the walls, and telescopes on ever surface. The young boy’s mother was a shaman to the small village, with all manner of notes on herbs and remedies, and bottles filled with every plant to cure every disease. They had never seen Twilight and yet, by the way the shadows wrapped about him (for this was all Twilight wore) they knew him. They gave him what honorifics they could, so soon after the birth of their first son, already named Alexander, and Twilight bowed deeply.
“I see knowledge,” he said, “of which men have a surfeit, but they are ever seeking truth. Such are the gifts I’ve given selfishly. Let them now be given to men, so that they might do good for one another.” And with this, Twilight took a star from the lady Night’s cloak and placed it in the eyes of young Alexander. “He has the light of truth in his eyes. You will light his way by the truth you see from the light of the stars in the heavens, and he will light the way by the truth he sees from his own eyes.”
Twilight learned better how to give his gifts, and learned more of himself in what gifts he gave, and the true light of the stars ever after served to guide all those who could see it.
In the winter lands, where the sun would die for months at a time, a great dark beast would roam in the month’s long night. Some said he was a polar bear whom a dying dogsledder taught the language of men. Others said he was a monster from the unholy union of an orca and a wolf. Wherever this creature who shunned the light may have come from, he loved nothing better to eat than men. Thus he would seek out the greatest warriors and strongest men of the winter lands, and put forth his challenge to them.
“Best me,” the dark beast of endless nights would say, “and I will be your servant and let you wear my skin. But if you do not, I will eat you up and pick my teeth with your bones.”
Invariably, the bones of the loser would find their final use in this grim ritual.
One night, as the beast walked about in the howling winds, it came across a brightly lit shack, seemingly in the midst of nowhere. Yet a sign hung above the doorway welcoming visitors, without even a name besides. The beast snarled in pleasure and shoved aside the door, for while it hated the light of day, the fires of men scared it not at all.
“Who among you will play for his life,” roared the beast as it entered the warmth and light. “For I will make a wager with one, or eat the lot of you whole! Come and play my game!”
The men all huddled about their tables, casting furtive glances over their drinks or shoulders, lowering their heads well below their shoulders and not a one of them raised his voice to the beast. The beast’s terrible eyes glowered at each man in turn and his great fangs glistened. At last, when silence (save for the horrible bellows breath of the beast) had descended upon the bar for several minutes, the bartender spoke up.
“Very well,” she said. “I can see no one else here is up to the task, so I will meet your challenge, and I daresay I’ll beat it as well.” So she tossed aside her bar rag and dirty glasses, and levered her lengthy legs over the bar in a swirl of blond hair. “This is my bar and so you may call me what you will. You are certainly too rude to bother telling you my name. I shan’t care if you know it should I fail, and you won’t be allowed ever to learn it otherwise.”
The beast growled with enthusiasm. “A meal with some fight in her! Very well, name what challenge you will. If you best me, I shall be your servant and give you my skin. But should you fail, I will eat you all up and pick my teeth with your bones.”
“Ha!” said the bartender, and set out glasses. “If you do not fear the fire of man, then let us see how well you know our fire water. I’ll wager your skin to my life that you fall before I do.” And with that she filled up the glasses with her most potent brew.
Beast and bartender each swallowed glass after glass of the clearest, purest alcohol. The beast glowered and gnashed his teeth, and swallowed each glass with great relish. He licked his lips and smacked as she poured, making a show of how delicious and sweet the brew was, even as the spilled droplets rinsed paint from the table. As for the bartender, she poured carefully and made clever faces at the beast, and blew him kisses, and taunted him, sipping slowly and carefully. Sometimes she would make as if she was about to fall, and then wink at the beast.
There was no telling how many hours they drank, for there was no sun in the sky, and no timepieces in the bar. Again and again their glasses, empty, slammed down onto the table top. The beast said to the bartender, “Fool girl, you are not a fourth of my size and I have bested men twice your weight many a time. Drink all you will, but I shall dine on you anon!”
And with that pronouncement, the beast’s eyes rolled up into his skull, and he fell, senseless, to the table with a crash that tumbled bottles from their shelves.
The bartender smiled to herself and stood up. She took the beast’s skin and carried it to a corner, where she slept at long last, thinking to herself, “There is no need to clean up now, my new busboy will do it in the morning.”
When the trees of life and knowledge were planted, and the ocean was pushed far away above the sky, men and gods were free to roam the land at last, without fear of being plucked from the earth at any moment by the dark things. But though they were no longer so afraid, men were still fools and fell easily into such snares as the dark things set on the earth, and the gods wasted away most of their days doing nothing for anything or anyone but themselves, leaving the dark things to prey anywhere over the earth.
Trees do not have eyes to see, nor ears to hear, but they see the light with their leaves and feel the earth with their roots. In this way the trees of knowledge and life saw the dark things in the absence of light, and felt the dark things as they wounded the earth and stole life from it. Thus the trees of life and the trees of knowledge conspired together, and between them they had a daughter who they named Arimneste.
The woman named Arimneste grew from the soft earth in the shade of life and knowledge, and her skin was as pale as birch bark. Her eyes were as dark as a deep knot in the eldest tree’s bark, and her lips were the burnt red of leaves in the fall. There was no hair on her body, and so the birds came down from the sky and wove golden locks from the needles of pine trees. A tiny chickadee made a nest behind her left ear and so styled her hair in all such manners as a bird thought appropriate. She had no voice of her own, and so a nightingale flew into her mouth and made a nest in her throat. In this way her voice was always melodious and she could sing songs which would soothe all men and beasts.
She had no garments of her own, and so the spiders came down from the tree. Being the cleverest of the living things, they wove garments from leaves and silk, and made their home in Arimneste’s clothes. Thus born of the tree of life and knowledge, with birds to carry seeds in her hair and clever spiders in her clothes, she set off from the forest.
The first foolish man she saw was trying to grasp a fine cloth in a rope noose. “Fool!” she said. “Can you not see the noose which has caught so many more like you? What good will that cloth do when you are dragged up to the ocean above the sky?” The man admitted he had seen such things before, but he explained how cold some nights became, and that a garment from such fine cloth as was in the noose might keep him warm. “If you were not so foolish, you would weave your own garments. Here,” and this was addressed to one of her spiders. “Go with this man and teach him how to weave his own garments.” Thus commanded, the spider hopped from her dress to the fool’s shoulder, and soon he wove the most clever garments, and never foolishly tried to steal what he could make, and so spread the wisdom of weaving to all other men.
The next foolish man Arimneste came to see was plaintively chasing after an apple tied to a string. “Fool!” she said. “Can you not see this apple is the lure which has drawn so many others before you into the depths of the ocean? You will be just as hungry underwater!” The man agreed he had seen such things happen before, but he could not climb high enough to reach any of the other apples, and he thought if he was just quick enough he might have this one. “If you were less a fool, you would grow your own apples, and never hunger again. Here,” and this was addressed to the chickadee in her hair. “Go and fetch the sparrow that he might show this fool how to plant a seed and grow a tree.” Thus commanded, the chickadee flew about her task. The fool never tried to scavenge anything he could grow for himself, and grew the most delicious apples which would ever be tasted for centuries to come, and so spread the wisdom of farming to all other men.
The third foolish man the daughter of knowledge and life came to see was hacking with persistent futility at a dead branch gripped furiously in his hands. “Fool!” she said. “Why on earth do you stab at dead wood so violently?” The foolish man explained he had tripped over the large branch, and done grievous injury to his toe, and felt no small amount of pain in his ankle as well. “If you were less a fool, you would use your knife last and your hands first! Now sit down with me and I will show you a weapon sharper than any blade.” Thus she took the man aside and taught him to write with all the help her birds and spiders could muster. He never acted so foolishly again, and became the greatest writer the world would see until the lady Night found the moon. He spread the wisdom of writing to other men, so that all the wisdom of Arimneste would not be lost to the world thereafter.
The woman named Arimneste traveled far beyond the forest of the world and the sky, for she was the stuff of life and knowledge, and the dark things could not harm her or touch her. Her spiders taught men all manner of crafts and her birds showed men how they need never want for food or drink, and she herself taught all men how to record things that they would not forget. When at last she grew old and could travel no further, she held up her arms and her feet took root. Each of her fingers became a branch, and each branch bore the fruit of wisdom. Her fruit would nourish men ever after and, wherever one of her seeds was planted, she would rise from the earth again, and go forth, and teach.
I am breaking my own rules and apologizing for my lack of updates over the past month or so. My schedule was quite hectic. To make up for it, I have posted four stories below. I will be updating regularly again.
I will also be making an appearance in New York City for several days. I arrive Sunday night. The following week I will be in the Northern Virginia/Maryland/DC area.
When the dark things were driven into the ocean, some of them took mortal men and women into the depths with them. Others crafted servants and left them in the world above the depths to carry out their will. One such a servant was a dragon carved from a solid mountain of onyx, with two sapphires for eyes, and given life through the arcane ritual sacrifices of the dark things.
For years on end the onyx dragon spread its terror through the lands of mankind, carrying off men and women for its masters, tumbling down the walls men built up, and burning to ash all their farmlands. Those lands burned by the dragon’s flame never grew back the same, for the creature was eternally tainted by its awful creation, and its own twisted nature was burned into the earth itself.
News of this dragon reached a kingdom in the lands seven leagues past the nine mountains, where they learned the dragon planned to carry off the men and women of their kingdom, tumble down their walls, and burn all their lands to ash. None knew what could be done about the beast until at last the youngest of the king’s sons spoke and said, “We must ask Halfshadows.” All the princes, and the king and queen, and all the knights and generals and ladies in waiting fell silent, but the young prince was right.
Thus the king sent his fastest runner to the deep cave where Halfshadows dwelled, bearing news of the dragon’s coming. Halfshadows was so called because her mother was Shadow, Night’s handmaiden. Her father was rumored to be one of the mortal descendents of Blood (sometimes erroneously known as Life, and sometimes even more erroneously attributed with the creation of the world), or Blood himself. Halfshadows recieved the runner and his news, and dismissed the trembling messenger without any reply. The darkness in her home deepened as she considered the dragon’s presence, and finally she strode out of her cave and waited for its arrival.
She stood upon an outcrop of stone for three days, watching for the dragon. On the fourth day it appeared, a dragon the size of a mountain, with a shadow that blocked the sun. But Halfshadows was her mother’s daughter, and took hold of the dragon by its enormous shadow. With a wrench of her hand, she brought the dragon crashing to earth.
The dragon reared up to its full height, raging, roaring, flame pouring from its jaws at Halfshadows. But flames have ever danced with shadows, and thus Halfshadows danced around the dragon’s flame. She plucked the dragon’s corruption from this inferno, and with it she adorned her arms and brow. “Vile homunculus. Let your masters learn about corrupting my blood, my land, and trespassing on what is mine.”
With the dragon’s own blood on her hands, she tore its shadow in twain and cracked its onyx heart in two. She scattered its shadow to the four corners of the earth, and the dragon was shattered, spilling out the last of its foul blood amongst its own obsidian fragments.
To this day, obsidian casts no shadow. As to Halfshadows, she is perhaps still in her cave, for as much as she guards her kingdom, she always walks through the nightmares of all who dwell there.
The dark things learned their lesson well that day. There were far worse and more frightening things living in the world of mortals than anything of their own design.
One evening, a man called Samuel was walking along the beach and he came upon a woman’s body washed up on shore. He saw that she still lived and so, quick as a spark, he built a fire. Soon, with Samuel’s coat around her shoulders, she opened her eyes.
“Do you always save the lives of drowned women where you find them?” she asked, and Samuel told her that this was so. “In the future, you may wish to be more cautious.”
Asking what she meant, the woman only said, “My father will be here soon.”
Then the whole ocean then rose up, and a voice boomed out, “Well, and so I see you have saved the life of my daughter, young man. More the fool she, for her desire to run away! I am the ocean, and I am boundless. But if this is her desire, so be it, and if you would save her life, it will be in your charge hereafter. Thus it shall be. Let no harm befall her, for I will drown you in the deepest trenches if it does. Not even the weightless souls of mortals can escape these depths, but must wander, lost, until the dark things make sport of them.” The ocean receded, and left Samuel with his charge.
Thus he cared for the ocean’s daughter over many happy years. Never did he allow her to be harmed, and never did he let sadness overstay its welcome in her life. Like the ocean, she did not age, but like the ocean she changed often.
There came a day when she paused in conversation, and said to Samuel, “My father is dead.” Samuel allowed to himself as that she would know of these things, and only asked what she would do. “I must be the ocean now, Samuel, lest its waters overrun the land and all the dark things have the earth again.”
She then took his hand, and smiled. “But I will still need you to keep me from harm, as long as I live.”
Thus the story of Samuel is told. They say he is still found at the edges of the ocean, and sometimes he drives the dark things back into her depths. It is said so long as her tides never still, his heart will never stop beating.
For a brief time, as time measures things, the Manticore’s army of the Irredeemable traveled along the coast of the Western lands, taking all they wished by force and without concern for the weak. In those days, there was little order, and such marauding armies were common. Thus it happened their pillaging took them to the dreaming lands.
As the danger from the Manticore loomed, the people of the dreaming lands feared for their lives. As ever, they turned to their Baroness to ask what they would do. And she told them:
“You will prepare a banquet in my castle, with food enough to feed an army. You will open the gates, and unbar the doors, and I will meet the Manticore at the portcullis.”
Though they thought her mad, her subjects did as she asked, and the Baroness met the Manticore and his army at the gates. “Greetings, Manticore. I invite you into these lands and my home as guests. You are welcome to stay and enjoy this repast, if it pleases you.”
The Manticore was nonplussed, but accepted her invitation. He could not refuse, and out of politesse, he was obliged to check his army, leading them into the Baroness’ castle without any harm to the dreaming lands (for in those days, though there was little order, there was honor among bandits). All day, and late into the night, the army of the Irredeemable feasted at the castle of the Baroness until they were too tired to move, right down to the last twisted creature.
“The Manticore and his army will be our guests for the night,” said the Baroness to her subjects. “Prepare rooms and bedding for all of them.” These things were done, and the army spent the night in the land of the dreaming.
The next day, when the Manticore awoke, he was refreshed, as was his whole army. “Baroness,” he said, “I thank you for your hospitality, but now I must ask you to surrender this land to my army, or we will take it as we have taken all others before.”
The Baroness consented, and the Manticore and his army moved on, conquering all who stood in their path until he ruled the earth and every living creature spoke his name with more reverence than even they spoke of the gods…
Or so he dreamed. The Baroness and her subjects carried the sleeping army to the rolling green hillsides of the dreaming lands, and there lay them all down. Those who live in the dreaming lands have no need of slumber, but any mortals who sleep within the gates fall under the provenance of the Baroness and her subjects.
No more was heard of the Manticore and his army, though on some rare occasions he would haunt the dreams of other unwary sleepers. As the years would pass, so the irredeemables’ mortal bodies would pass on, until they were nothing but dream fragments, flickering in the imaginations of the sleepers whom the baroness always welcomed to her land with all the best hospitality.
This is the story of Niese.
When the world was still young, before the dark things had been driven into the ocean, and mankind still hid itself away during night’s passage, all the animals of the Earth spoke one language. In those days the world was a small place, and the only animal with names was man. These were strange times, and a predator might sometimes negotiate with his prey.
Niese was a clever girl, but lions are more quick than clever, and thus one morning a lion caught her fair and square, as she was trying to pick some berries. Well, of course she begged the lion for her life, and the lion listened, because in those days this was often the only way to get anything at all.
Like many felines, the lion could smell the cleverness of his prey, and he gave her bargain no small consideration. “Very well, girlchild, if there is anything you would do for me, then I will set a task before you.” He allowed Niese to stand. “In the months before winter,” spoke the lion, “Fallen, the servant of Jack the Frost, comes to paint all the leaves with gold. Then comes the Frost’s handmaiden, Barren, to pluck each leaf and weave a cloak of gold which the Frost wears all winter long. I have long admired these leaves and would like a cloak of my own, but one of sturdy cotton, so that it will last me longer than a single season. Weave me a cloak of the Frost’s gold for your life.”
Niese bowed her head and agreed to the task. It was already late fall, and the leaves had begun to turn gold, thus she knew Fallen must be hard at work at his task. She searched until she found a tree whose leaves were red and only just flecked with gold, and she made a bed of pine needles beneath it.
She watched the sun go down, and wrapped her own cloak of blue wool tight around her body to ward off the cold (for Crow had yet to bring fire to the world). She listened to the sounds of the night, wondering if the dark things were nearby. The familiar noise of the daytime became strange at night. She could not tell if one sound there was a babbling brook, or the small lizards which lived in the grass. It could be the drawing of a breath, the wings of an owl, it could be the sound of wicked claws being dragged along the bark of a tree…
“Young lady, what are you doing out here on this night? You know the dark things roam freely when the sun has crossed the horizon, under Lady Night’s cloak, and have no good in mind for any mortals among them.” Niese looked up, and Fallen stood over her with his golden brush, painting the red leaves with delicate strokes.
“Oh,” she said, “I know of the danger, but I was told of your work, and I have admired it so long without knowing the author, I had to see!”
Fallen bowed to the compliment and continued painting the leaves, but Niese could tell he was pleased by her, and she stood up to watch him at work, making polite noises until the entire tree was decked in gold. “Well, I have many more trees to paint, but I would be no kind of gentleman to leave you here. Let me take you somewhere the dark creatures cannot find you, young lady, for it is the least I can do for such a brave admirer.”
Fallen carried Niese to one of the many caverns where men hid in the night, and as he left her off, she begged a favor, that he would paint her hair gold as the leaves. “Very well,” said Fallen. “Though my liege would not be pleased to hear of it, I believe I can spare a few strokes.” And quick as a wink he had painted her hair gold.
Niese fell into a deep slumber then and, when she woke, she set immediately to work, carefully cutting away each strand of her hair and weaving them all into a cloak. But although her hair was very long, in the end she had only enough for a hood. She hoped this would please the lion, and she took it too him.
“I see you have met Fallen, clever girl,” the lion said, when she came to him again, “and in some way divested him of his precious golden paint. Let us see how the cloak fits.” Thus she placed it about his neck, and the lion’s head was wreathed in gold, though little else was covered. “Ahh,” said the lion, “well, this is not a whole cloak, and yet I can see how you have done more than perhaps any other could have. For while Jack the Frost’s cloak lasts only a season, mine, though smaller, will last a lifetime.”
That is how the lion got his mane, and when Niese’s hair grew back, it was still made of gold.