The Eyes Have It

The magi and the magistrate became as one -

Silks and their weavers

merchants and their traders

all combined into one -

these made up the Lawyers robe,

pulled together with a single stitch,

embroidered with a common vernacular

to fill the bulging purse.

Aloft their station was the spectacle maker.

Fashioning ground glass, tooling the wire,

sight is a gift far beyond measure.

In the hierarchy of worldly wealth

the iridologist and his prescriptions

were well standing.

Again, the two became in twine -

hand in glove, lens with lens - tethered the two

more powerful than judiciary,

church, or governing mens.

Crusty cockles littered the sluice, the dark waters licked and slapped a tangle of seaweed and grit. Tindle paced the shore every morning half hoping the ‘messenger’ that came to him would appear again - however, he did not.

There was some movement in the half-light of the approaching dawn, but this was not at all whom he had been hoping for. It was his wife! As he came closer Tindle could see that she was naked, dancing around in circles, humming to herself as though she were a little child … unawares of any impropriety - completely without modesty or shame.

His wife had purchased a small shipload of whiskey from which she had tippled morning to night. The crates were all emptied now and their planks onsold to the carpenter, and the jugs were refurbished with vinegar.

“Put yer garments back on,” he shouted disapprovingly, rapidly approaching the rotund woman.

Although weathered by the rum, she still felt his disdain and yelled back “I have born ye babes, and I am worn. You would once tear my clothes from me, what offends thy eye these days old man?” she spat at him.

“I know not what you want from me wife. Do I not give you anything and everything you have asked for?” he replied, neglecting her question.

It was true. As the business had prospered her purse had always been full.

Tindle picked up a rock and threw it at her and it clipped the side of her cheek from behind. It went far harder than he had intended. She screamed in fright, and then with a rebound rage, took the jug she had been carrying and broke it onto a mound, then ran at him with the jagged porcelain.

Tindle lost his footing and fell sideways splitting his head on a rusted pike sticking out from the ribs of a wayward fisherman’s trawler.

She emptied his pockets before leaving him to the evening tides.

* * *

Alex looked over to Puck, who, was once again emptying his boots of their contents - this time all over the mosaic tiling - he then gazed over to Mercedes, who was standing close to the lift, ready to take her chances as soon as the cleaners had finished mopping up.

“It was you” he said under his breath looking hard at her. And suddenly, very suddenly, his head hurt.

* * *

No sooner had the ‘apparition’ disappeared from the room, taking the small goat with it Alex and Mercedes watched Romulus pacing again - they were both barely daring to breathe wondering what he would do next. They had witnessed unseemly magical events around him in the past - inexplicable and surprising manifestations - but this was something very different, for the man in the long coat was so real and unafraid, and the mess that he and the goat left behind was undeniably real.

“Pack your things” Romulus shouted across the room addressing Alex who momentarily thought he was being told to leave. He had been waiting for this with mixed emotion but as it turned out Romulus meant for him to go with him.

“We leave on the 23.00 Silver Fox out of here.” Romulus liked to call his private get 'Silver Fox’ because the jet had been brought out of commercial retirement and repurposed.

Mercedes took her opportunity while the two were packing: when the lift doors opened and closed again she finally was inside it, making her way back down to earth, into the streets, never to return.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

An Apparition from the Past

Good and evil was not ever a true fight,

simply because there is only ever good.

Evil is never an equal opponent - not even close.

Materially evil is but a canker to be excised,

discard it from that it would make putrid

and give it no weight or undue measure.

Goat had followed. There was not one way of doing this, and unlike the comic books, evil could not be overcome by Puck using combat or attempting to match strength with simple sparring.

Puck had brought along with him some of the sea and saltwater, and the seaweed had soaked into the plush carpet. A few of the its beads exploded with the heat of the room and leaked further exuding a pungent smell.

To Alex’s wonderment the man that he had dreamt about was actually there now standing in the apartment, with a small goat hopping around beside him. He recognised him! What he did not know, and what he could not realise, is that Alex himself was Puck’s ticket into that room, into the vicinity of Romulus. It was he that had helped to make it happen, by the powers of association - one that went back in time to the beach of the diamond, to that inlet of Tindle, Dearth and Dingle, to now.

The goat did a hop and a jump and leapt forward onto the bed, landing into the middle of the piled sheets. He wiped his furry face into them, savouring the smell.

He then sprang onto the bed and left droppings upon the naked pillows; some more black beads littered the carpet - Romulus swiped at the small muscly creature with a stainless steel martini shaker. He missed. The goat simply urinated on it defiantly.

“You insult me you wretched farkin Pookhah” he hissed at Puck, who had said not a word since his arrival.

He was trying to recall if and when he had met the ‘great’ Romulus - this character was more than familiar. Alex, on the other hand, he knew well.

“I have your boats - it was I that pulled them from the water, and put them all into safety.” Puck said with a firm yet mocking tone.

“Piracy is an international crime” snarled Romulus, who awkwardly noted after saying this that Puck looked something like a medieval pirate, in the manner he was clothed.

“Piracy?” said Puck directly staring down the demon, “Piracy is stealing the blood from the innocent, and harvesting children, and containing their souls. Who now is the greater pirate?” He swore something in Elvish that was exceedingly disparaging, but untranslatable. Puck was in no mood to argue.

“What do you want for them?" an angry Romulus spat. He did not understand Puck’s curse, but caught its meaning well enough.

Meanwhile Mercedes unlocked the cupboard where the in-house phone was cradled, and pressed ‘0’ for housekeeping. It was the perfect time for her to escape when the the cleaners would leave … and with any luck Romulus would be too occupied to notice.

The lift bell pinged and out stepped four attendants with their trolleys and buckets, spray bottles and vacuum.

“I didn’t call for you” snapped Romulus blocking their entry and pressing the button to close the lift door.

“I did” Mercedes called and moving in front of him, “there’s water everywhere and it needs cleaning up before it stains the carpet - and it smells.” she added loudly. This bluff was her only chance.

“Very well” he consented, “and while you are at it call security will you?”


-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Blood Money

As usual Romulus interrupted their lunch - he had an uncanny knack of creating disturbance, for it seemed that the minute Mercedes or Alex felt relaxed he would manifest enough chaos to upset them all over again, and this time it was with his explosive temper.

He started roaring complaints as though they were to blame, or had some ability to help him with whatever was going wrong - neither of which was ever possible. Mercedes had no idea what his beef was - or why the supply chain had faltered, and although Alex understood the general concept, what bothered him all the more was the anger that was still to come his way.

He had seen Romulus in such a mood many times, and it did not go well for him. He wondered if it was connected to the implant between his legs, because subsequently this man who had everything seemed to only get relief by having his rage culminating in the subjugation and pain of others.

Alex asked himself over and over why did he stay with Romulus? He even knew deep down there was only one way out of this relationship, if you could call it a relationship. And yet the attention Romulus gave him felt so special - even if it did cause grief along the way. Mercedes was more of a prop, he told himself, their engagement meant nothing - it was he, Alex, that Romulus really cared for.

Romulus was pacing like an animal as he shouted down into his phone. It was a newer model - one of the clear handsets that lit up from the inside. It could read your body temp and pulse as you held it, and Romulus’s phone was flashing a beating heart, which for any normal man would be a sign of grave danger.

“What do you mean the cargo was intercepted?” he snapped.

He was referring to a fleet of mobile blood banks. Blood was the new currency, more valuable and profitable than gold - it was his ‘pet’ project in a volatile economy. His team had been working with storing blood and blood products in cryogenic vats, capturing the life essence of the ‘donors’ indefinitely.

Word was, amongst his fellow oligarchs, that crypto and gold would not be able to get close to the value of blood in the next decade. And yes, human farms were on the agenda. Yes, it prolonged life and quality of life, however it was far more significant than generally guessed - it contained signature, spirit, and immortality. Screw interplanetary exploration! There was more than one way to dominate the universe! Or so he thought.

Alex had returned to his hot chips, satisfied that danger was not yet impending as Romulus was far too absorbed with his phone call for the time being.

He had not yet seen the uncanny apparition that appeared in the far corner of the apartment room from out of nowhere. The lift had not delivered him, and he had not accompanied Romulus inside the building - and yet there he was.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

A Heart of Gold

“Tinsel, could you find me some gold? Could you, would you fetch me something to work with?” Jonathon asked hopefully.

Tinsel was a tiny flutter-by: a fairy that was no bigger than a large moth. She understood Jon’s request perfectly, and because she liked him she returned three days later with a walnut shell in which he found concealed within its inner pocket a hump of gold dust.

“This is all that I need” he said appreciatively, “I give thee many thanks my friend.”

When Jonathon had completed his project he approached Isabelle saying: “I have made thee a trinket.”

Jon had perfected his metal work in the community, borrowing the Elven tools, learning from them their specialised craft.

She looked at him wonderingly. Although safe from harm whilst living in this spiritual oasis, her time in Robin’s forest had been somewhat lonely. Prior to this life, her former years she reflected again, had been desolate - every minute she felt absent of happiness and without a true companion. Marriage to Robertus had not solved the wanting - it had been a timely relief to be released from that troth.

She drew out from the polished shell a fine chain that glittered in the shifting light from the shimmering trees.

“The Council told me it is a good charm to have upon oneself for protection dear Isabelle - a mirror of gold. Its size is of no import - for its miracle is that when you sleep the Fae around you will take delight in their own image, and protect you by their good nature; whilst the Demons who may approach will see their own faces in its reflection and runaway afearing them.” He laughed at his own thought, for the faces of the demonic are indeed hideous.

The golden mirror he had struck was in the shape of a little heart - a flat piece of gold he had cut and polished. He watched her face for approval yet this dear woman looked worried.

“You do not like it? It was all the gold I had to work with … and silver, I was told, would not perform the task.”

“My boy it is beautiful,” she said quietly, perplexed by its message. “What does it mean?” she asked.

“It means I love you.” he said quietly.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Vision of the Past

Mercedes looked keenly at one of the many artworks adorning the gold papered walls. Mostly the paintings hung depicted various forms of torture, however the one she kept returning to seemed sweet enough; portraying a small child sitting in a gutter with her head down, staring at an empty cola can at her little feet. The toddler was without clothes. 

“This one is not half bad” she said out loud, to Alex who was plastering cream on his thighs and beyond.

“You might think that,” he said despondently … see the rat in the shadows behind? The artist used blood, real blood, mixed into his acrylic, for authenticity. Here he laughed a fake laugh, a nervous laugh to conceal his own distemper. He held back telling more of what he knew of this painting - Mercedes did not need to hear the worst - he felt proudly protective of her.

Alex wanted more and more to be back on the rig, as far away as he could get from the sadistic narcissist he had fallen in love with. Self loathing sank in upon him yet again. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the smell of the sea air, the spray on his face, the salt, the sounds, and the freedom that came with the feeling of being alone amidst the heaving waves. 

A memory stirred - one he did not recognise: he was back at the beach on the sand, standing by a very large pitted rock. Yes, he was there watching another man approaching, one who wore a very large folded hood connected to a broad long weather-worn leather cape - it seemed like he had stepped right out from a medieval movie. 

How odd, he thought to himself - these flashes of fiction had been getting more vivid day by day. “Are you feeling hungry Sadie?” he called over to Mercedes who was fixing her hair. 

“Sure, what do you feel like?”

“Think I’ll call down and see if they can arrange some fish and chips.” he said, clean forgetting the stranger and his vision of the past. 

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Wealth Cannot Buy Good Taste

Romulus was a Forbes endowed, all-powerful, worldly rich individual, who, with his immense holdings, managed to interfere in the lives of millions of people, for better or for worse - his influence was everywhere. He considered this to be his right, and with his notion of supreme entitlement he had suppressed and overtaken the wishes of his heart and soul lifetimes earlier. His commonsense of spirit had left him entirely, along with his angel that he had repelled forevermore.

“I want that bear!” he snapped at Mercedes, who was adjusting her bra around swollen nipples that were tender from the rings Romulus had insisted she have pierced with. 

“I want that fu’kin Bear”, he snarled angrily to Alex, who had just received a heavy beating, and no amount of coke could mask the pain this time ... his groin was purple from that contraption. He looked over to Mercedes and with the solidarity of the oppressed; they understood one another completely in a very meaningful moment.

“Why is it the guy never sleeps?” she complained shortly after Romulus had left the apartment.

“I know - I sure would like to see that” agreed Alex, slowly sitting himself down on the edge of the bed; its black satin sheets crumpled into a small pile waiting for housekeeping to come and collect them.

The entire floor was one enormous room situated high in the clouds on the seventy-eighth. Its windows however, were filled with decorator landscape views, scenic photographs of country USA - it was impossible to tell the time of day or night by looking at them or to take in the sky or the scenery beneath. Some of the panes doubled as video screens also. Alex always assumed there might be recording devices imbedded in them as well.

This enormous room depended therefore on artificial lighting, which if anything was always far too bright and uncomfortable for normal eyes, except for those places in the recessed spaces that glowed a dull dark red.

There was also a sunken lounge and a small bathing pool tiled in black and a circular bed. The decor was bad taste 60’s and actually designed by Romulus himself, whose primary objective in both life and design was to put one’s teeth on edge. Even the latrine and bidet was exposed, being behind just a single glass partition, for he liked and insisted on being able to see his companions at all times, and as far as he was concerned, the more uncomfortable they were, the more excited he became.

The only exit from the apartment was the lift that had bronze gargoyles positioned at each side of the doors, with sensors hidden within their gaping mouths. Only Romulus held the card key for this lift and to the hotel’s switchboard; and so Alex and Mercedes were dependent on him for them to be able to leave. There was no fire escape; at least not one that they knew of. No escape was at all easy. 

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series

Fountain of Universal Fire

“Come over here my child and sit by the fire.”

Sylvia cringed. She had been a spirit of the water for as long as she could remember.

Mother Earth saw her recoil.

“Some true warmth is exactly what is needed right now,” she said in her best relaxing voice, as she took the pale hand gently and guided her to a seat of crystal that was cushioned with plump kapok.

Sylvia did as was instructed and took a seat by the flame.

This marvel was not a fuelled fire: no tinder or coal spurned its comforting light, for this was a fountain of universal fire, borrowed from the one incandescent Cosmic flame.

Sylvia watched its opaline colours flash through its dance, climbing from a very large golden bowl, radiating what she felt to be pure and exalted happiness. She sat back and closed her eyes, finally settling within herself.

Mother Earth was concerned, tears quickly sprang to her eyes. There had been an exodus of nature spirits evacuating their caretaker roles arriving at her door of late. They had all reported the very same thing to her of their experience in the world, each with a story to relate, all with the same belittling complaint: Fear.

Fear was not normally within the Kingdoms as a malaise - it was virtually unknown for the spiritual beings who generally and genuinely had nothing to be afraid of.

However, this poison had come directly from an unearthly source - and it had appeared all at once; like a filth-weed in her garden that had crawled its way with subterfuge stealing the goodness from ground and air above, and all around.

“This will not do” she said out loud, draping a fine wool blanket over the now sleeping Sylvia. She then gave instructions to her attendant to care for the troubled youth, and departed the wintered hemisphere for the rocky roads.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series