Silver Tree

A tree of silver dropped a leaf one at a time: each day just one of its leaves chinked onto the scattered mass beneath.

Jon had dreamt of finding this tree ever since his pa had told him the story of it - and for a metalsmith, this would be the prize of all prizes to own and to smelt.

Oh! he had thought many times what he could do with these leaves if he could but find one.

At the fireside where the three men sat, Zithia, without warning, handed Jon a small silver leaf. There could be no mistaking - its markings were similar to that of the fabled Argent Ash, and its metal was radiant - glittering crisply in the night light.

Jon could not help himself, he let out an audible gasp, and all three strangers looked to see what it was that Zithia had handed to him.

“Child, do you have more of these tokens?” the earless stew-eater urged.

“My God”, said Jon to himself, and to it truly was to God he appealed, for Jon feared an uncommon interest was arising from this revelation.

He thought quickly.

“No my kind man, this is the only one I have, it was sold to us at the Maundy market - at Blair’s end … there is an old trader who has a bag of such leaves and is charging but a ha’penny a piece.”

The three said something in their own dialect and after their conference, they gathered up their mats and bags.

“Will you sell us your token for that which you paid?”

“Surely yes”, replied Jon, relieved that they had bought his story into the bargain.

And so the commercial travellers left and Jon was satisfied with his finances improved. He could not afford to be sentimental about the leaf itself, or be glum that he missed the chance to study it. He did not even wonder where his little companion had got it from, but as usual Zithia spoke nothing to him, although she did manage a small smile, as she well understood her part in the ridding of this questionable crew.

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

Needles Versus the Ghouls

A fight broke out in the corner of the room; the ghosts had returned and had not taken kindly to Pine-needles as he bustled about purposefully as usual. 

There were four or five of them that set upon him, and in the scuffle their exact number was hard to tell, because they had the ability to morph into one, which when combined, made them all the stronger.

Over the course of several minutes, if you were clairvoyant enough to see, there was the vision of many contorting odd shapes and sizes, as the ghosts would one minute be surrounding the tempered dwarf, to then combine into one almighty blob of ectoplasmic anger, coating him as it were with themselves, stifling his activity, and then hurling their dark green ectoplasmic snot around the room with exaggerated squeals of triumph.

Rarely are the spirits that remain behind in the earthly realm jovial: they are usually a miserable lot - malcontent, complaining, awkwardly difficult, refusing to repent or reconcile, with an inability to simply move on.

Eve sensed that this dark cloud had descended into her apartment, but with no clear discernment she placed the upset onto Puck, as well as her embarrassment at being caught in the bed of Granoldi.

She was inwardly terrified that he would now take the bear from her. And so for the first time in a long time, an unsubstantiated complaint against Puck himself, arose inside of her.

“I think you should leave” she said as coldly as she could.

Puck appeared to be staring into space, but was just watching the comedy that was Needles versus the Ghouls, waiting for his moment to break up the pummelling that had now moved itself closer to the front door.

A red pilates ball exploded with the tension, and little pieces of rubber shed themselves onto the floral carpet.

Puck began picking up the little pieces, and as he knelt down Eve could see the top of his crown - there was some white hair beginning to wind its way into the gorgeous golden brown curls. She took a step back from him, surprised to think of him in any way as much older than herself.

As he read her mind he recoiled from this thought also. He had never in any way thought of himself as being older, or getting older, ever … but it was to be true within worldly years … his energy levels simply had not been quite the same.

It is interesting that one may be immortal in other Spheres, and yet tire in the physical world - even the highest of spiritual beings have been known to find the physical world and its pressures so very demanding.

He sat down on the couch, and she sat beside him.

“What is your thinking?” she asked.

“It’s become complicated” he said, “when I close my eyes there is but a panorama of sadness from beginning to end. I see the stories of men and how they play out, and whilst there is joy bespeckled amidst the sorrow, the hardship continues.”

Eve misunderstood what was being said, and replied: “You are only one man, and one man can only do so much. Do not be so hard on yourself.”

He sighed a gentle sigh. Her hand pressed onto his wide shoulders but something made her pull it back almost as quickly as it had landed.

Pine-needles had managed to chase the ghostly group out of the apartment. He had discovered that spraying a mist of citrus fruit bothered them terribly, and their evacuation was soon complete. He then took himself down the street and back to the shops to collect more supplies for the pantry.

“Look at me” she said demandingly to Puck.

He did, and all he could see was the girl from the Franciscan forest who had spent her entire past life in the service of others.

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

Foreign Tongue

The carrots looked like parsnips and the parsnips looked like peat. Three idlers lopped by and lingered, staring at the stew pot with obvious desire, and then over to Zithia who was placing the kindling onto the fire beneath, to keep it on the boil.

Jon fidgeted with his pa’s little knife in his side pocket, and then saw that one of the trilogy was missing his ears. This could only mean one thing - he was a Jew from the Abrahamic land … most likely on the run from his own - for in their land they often severed body parts in exchange for debts unpaid.

“No wheres to hang my pretty earrings eh Monti?”, said the deformed man to little Zithia - who Jon had given his earring to, with its bright gold glittering in the firelight.

He had done this not long after the market-woman had cut all her hair away and he wanted to win her cheerfulness back.

Jon grew more and more uneasy with the strangers gaping at them so.

The three seated themselves in front of the fire and Zithia gave each a small tin cup. She then sat beside Jon and drew the side of his overcoat protectively around her. The blackness of her skin made her all but concealed save for the earring and her beautiful eyes watching them steadily.

“What business have ye here?” Jon enquired cordially as they helped themselves to the stewing pot. They ignored him completely, speaking in their own tongue to one another.

“Jacob, your mama calls to you - she says that your brothers despair and the money you have hidden from them needs to be returned.”

The man whose name was Jacob appeared dizzy with these words. He broke into English - “How does this child know my Mama? And from where did she learn to speak to me in my own tongue?”

Jon was equally perplexed as this was the very first time he heard Zithia speak. So, she was not a mute after all, but had simply been raised in another land. 

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

Dangerous Bedfellows

Eve woke from the loveliest dream - she was immersed in a shining lake being held up by a man who engaged her with such a virulent love …

“Wake up!”called a voice close by.

Granoldi’s warm body beside her groaned and exhaled from his rear - with this Eve turned over and opened one eye to see Puck standing beside the bed appearing quite agitated - very possibly because she was under the blankets with the Bear.

“What do you think you are playing at?” he demanded (with genuine concern for her wellbeing).

“Don’t you realize he could roll over in his sleep at any time and suffocate you? Or worse?”

“Well if you put it that way.” She wanted to make light of the situation and was beginning to feel embarrassed at herself.

“It's all the fairy cakes you’ve been making me,” she said lightly with a smile.

“What fairy cakes?” Puck asked irritably. He was uncomfortable to find that his judgement housing Granoldi had been totally off.

“The ones delivered at morning tea. Just love the violet topped cupcake - it is very kind of you.”

Puck could see Pine Needles in the background running around the apartment setting the table for breakfast as they spoke. He hadn’t thought twice about it until now, but decided to let that conversation pass for now.

Eve hurriedly made a dash for her own bedroom to get a robe and straighten her hair, having only the thinest singlet covering her. Puck waited and helped himself to a butter muffin.

“Any jam?” he asked Needles, who was busy setting a second place for him.

“Raspberry would be best”, he called to the dwarf as he soft footed it out the door to get the spread.

It could be expected that Pine Needles could simply ‘magic’ his materials from some fairy fare, but he did not - instead, he was collecting all of his groceries from the bakery and the local supermarket - the fruiterer, and sometimes even the cafe nearby … He just piled them into his magic weightless sack (the same kind that Santa Claus uses to transport his bulk of deliveries) and made his way back to her apartment.

Eve had all the while thought this to be Puck providing for her.

“We have to talk,” he said, as a small pot of country conserve hit him in the head from behind. 


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

Zithia

Now there were the two of them to provide for, Jonathon would have to work all the harder. And he had little savings as it is. 

Truth be told, Jon had been lonely for a very long time - yet he had no plans to bed the girl who was just a child, his was a valiant act of compassion simply to save her from certain slavery. Her dark fine form walked behind him without complaint - she would not, or could not, talk. He sold her wrap of tangerine silk in exchange for some woollen cloth, and a soft pair of chamois boots. 

Her hair was like the fine wire his Pa would solder at the end of a rod to make a sturdy brush for cleaning the barrels of guns and pipes. She constantly scratched at her scalp both day and night and so Jonathon took the child to the maid’s maid for a consultation - and the woman cut all of her hair away. John purchased a woven cap but it did not stop her from wailing as they made their way home. There were open scabs and cuts upon her head, now visible. She gave him no name to call herself, and so he made one up for her: “Zithia”.

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

Escape into the Night

John Frederick Lewis

Whilst Tindle went on to make his fortune, with the invention of the very first takeaway food service: the Waterside Fish and Chippy - and had amassed the funds to purchase three fishing boats and four potato farms with his new income, Jonathon was still circling the villages seeking some honest employment.

Jon had been paid a farthing for scrubbing down the tombstones, and another for cleaning the fox pelts from their sticky entrails. He helped to white-wash the leaning cottages, and run deliveries for the wealthy, whose shopping lists were always too large for their purse. Some even accused him of shortening their change after he had bought for them at the markets, when he knew that he had not.

Tindle’s culinary wares became a favourite of the Euro-peans, even for the fancies who would send their servants to collect the parcels for picnics and passing by carriage stops. He was pronounced that year to be a main merchant of the town which had grown substantially in size, due to its work-force gravitating to his success.

Meanwhile Jonathon had now entirely forgotten his etherial romance, as practicalities had since called his attention to necessity.

Over the months Jon had managed to collect some silver from his very hard working efforts, and being the Sabbath he thought he might treat himself at the Tent of a Thousand and One Whores. The title exaggerated itself, for there were far fewer than a thousand and one - however, to his excitement there were certainly hundreds, and he enjoyed the anticipation of picking one out tremendously.

Today was a special day as Jon was commemorating his twenty-fifth year, and being alone in the world he most naturally sought some suitable company to spend the day with.

He felt fortunate to find them in town - the tent had come from Arabia, it was an impressive, majestic edifice the size of a small cathedral … with many coloured paintings decorating the material around it, gold and silver highlights, swirls and flourishes, squirrels and birds and rabbits in every corner.

This was a place of great happiness to his mind. Crowded with waiting women who took shelter under its high pitched roof, huddled around each other in sections of coloured veils partitioning … yet in the cold - for there were no fires to be lit within this tent as they feared it would alight itself all too quickly. And so all cooking was done outside of it also.

He paid his fee to the doorman, and walked in when the queue permitted. Jon barely noticed that as he approached the women they flinched from him, and many turned away, or covered their faces.

A negress who appeared to be no older than eight or nine approached, holding out her small hand to touch his. This little girl had a thin silk blanket around her shoulders of tangerine, her hair had been braided loosely and the whites of her eyes followed him intently.

He dismissed her from his mind and walked away, for this was but a child - yet he felt a bond with her aloneness, and a completely different impulse arose quite simply in compassion, that he might find a way to extricate her from this sorry crowd.

He doubled back and now offered his hand that she might take his, and this she did. Very simply and quietly he left the thousand tent, walking past the doorman as naturally as he had gone in, but this time with the little slave girl, in his grasp, who followed him into the night.

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

Forever Land

Forever Land requires no magical passport, it has not closed its borders, nor shall it not keep anyone from entering. This is a sanctuary of healing, where the still waters really do run deep, and the fruits abundantly drop from the trees.

Temperate, easy, yet exciting - aquiver with life - current to the physical reality, existing in permanent glory - a far more subtle substantial frame of world … and it is always there with its own heart beating, independent of the calamities the Material World suffers.

The etheric world of Faerie is home to many, not least withstanding the little children who live one foot in and one foot out.And, for the individuals whose minds are lit with it, they too have recourse and a rapport with the greater nature all about.

Faerie Land was, and is, the first home of the Mortals. The soul knows it well. A lantern hangs in the forest, a waterfall washes the feet. Not necromancy, but romancery prevails.

Dark paths are for outcasts, sad, forlorn, alone, separate, to a world that grew them- angry souls who literally lost their way from the golden past of jovial temper.

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