Osmosis

Tears splashed against the mighty rock
from the sea that breathed heave back and forth,
Mists infused with skies above
The ocean’s rise congregates in cloud
hovering, gliding, a porous shroud -
vapours infilled with golden light
propelled by forceful breath there came
upon our wanting earth beneath
the ecstasy of rain .

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

Twenty Years is Not so Long

John Everett Millais

Time in the world had evaporated, yet for Jon-Jon there was no recollection of the twenty years that had passed - not one day or night - since entering into that very private, secret of places; to find his stepmother waiting for him … and now, for all of that time to dissipate, it never occurred to him, that this community she and he dwelt in together was a magical one.

And although he had not slept through this episode, Jon had forged something of a life that was parallel to what he had known in worldly hardship prior - and with this, his memory of its suffering had lapsed completely, and his former self gave way to the Elvin dream-life in the thick woods of the Sherwood community.

Neither he, nor Isabelle, had seemed to age in this track of two decades. Quite possibly he could have stayed for many years more, were it not for a dream that visited him where Zithia pressed her face close to his, and in a brief and waking moment he instantly recalled his former self, and regret fast swept upon him.

“What if you cannot find her?” Isabelle called after him.

This thought pained Jon.

“I shall return either way,” he replied, hoisting his seat across Chester.

“Then I shall not dissuade you dear man - however you shall take this that you may find your way back - for without a key it may not be so easy to find me a second time.” And saying this she drew from the folds of her dress a fine Whistle carved from the bough of a tree from Faerie.

“It was the great monk Robin that made this himself” she said thoughtfully placing it into his hand.

Jon turned it over and recalled several legends. Even though he had resided in the host’s community, very few had taken tea with him. The Hode was a private soul. He was also rarely there, though none knew of this.

“As well my dear heart, know also that you cannot take Chester this time - for he will not survive.”

“And yet he looks long in the tooth, I believe he will be as strong as the day we came here.” Jon protested.

“By appearances yes, but appearances only. I shall arrange for you another mount if leaving is still your obstinacy.”

“It is not my obstinacy, but rather my will,” he corrected her - “for my purpose had not died, it only slept.”

Isabelle was displeased with his firmness and was sorely apprehensive about losing Jon into the world once more.

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

Goober Appeared out of Nowhere

“Please don’t take me to Hell” he pled …
“Don’t you know 

that I only meant well?”
“Of course you did” the sparrow said ~
“yet here we are, and dead is dead.”

“You know, if it is their world, after all, at some point we have to ask: what right do we have to interfere?”

“However, they have now invaded our domain - for many eons they polluted the Garden (he means Faerie - the original Garden) and now their filth has visited a station of Heaven. This is not good, or permissible, and because Jupiter introduced these events, Jupiter must hold the keys to fix what has happened.”

“How exactly did Jupiter cause this?” asked Jupiter himself sarcastically. He was annoyed at being spoken of whilst present and also for being blamed for the lake of souls turning rancid.

Eve was surprised as she did not know he had it in him. The day’s mishap had soured him altogether.

The golden gourds had lost their plump, the grass bent over, not being able to withstand the weight of its browned head. Weeds were erupting everywhere and some thistles already had leapt so high they were choking the pathways with their spikes and pricks overcoming the floral beds.

An ominous haze wafted overhead, dimming the once bright light, and birds were dropping from the trees, falling like coconuts with a thud here and there every few minutes. The wandering peacocks had lost their colours entirely - their plumage now black with the appearance of lace funerary attire. Small vermin scuttled around their ankles attempting to climb their legs, and chased each other over the bodies of birds piling up on the ground. Flies arrived in the thousands, and consumed the ethers in eagerness and group assault.

“Once upon a time there was no Earth life as we know it now. There was just the Etheric Land of Faerie.”

“Faerie was a place of purity - an adjunct of the Heavenly planes - subordinate to the Higher worlds - and its population was innocent to the forces of anti-nature and decay. Death was unknown. Faerie had thought itself incorruptible, and up until the time of Eden, it was.

“A place of grace and eternal sunlight - of prosperity and bourgeoning growth, of possibility and inventive magic - the seat of Creation, the home of all souls - and a family incorporating the many Kingdoms within. This was Faerie then …” he sighed.

Eve could have sworn she saw a small tear appear in the crease of his eye. Puck paused and said something in another language under his breath. She noted just how handsome this complex being was.

He went on: “It was the dark gods that introduced chaos into the realm, not the Mortals that entertained them. One brought death, and the other a fixed and imitative life - one brought disintegration and the other static - both conditions are deadly to the magical realm.”

“The world of men was soon controlled by false memory and a false economy.”

“It was an asp with a two pronged tongue that inoculated the two evils into the realm, and it has had shadows of this to deal with ever since.”

The dying birds behind them began to shriek with the almost deafening sound of cicadas. A low hum seeped out from the black sap that was oozing from the trees - it looked like old blood, dropping in clots onto the muddy ground beneath. The leaves above were losing their grip, and mostly had littered the bottom, exposing boughs that were now draped with tendrils of purple ivy.

“What have I done?” asked Jupiter out loud.

Eve remembered back to feeling something very similar, but she could not place exactly what. She certainly knew the feeling of dread to follow.

Puck read her wondering.

“If only I could turn back time on this one.” He winced.

Jupiter put his hand onto one shoulder, partly to comfort Puck and partly to steady himself.

“I had become prideful” he said, genuinely admonishing himself. “There were few things I bethought beyond me.”

“Steady on, interjected Jupiter … you never managed to solve world war or mass hunger, I really don’t think you did much at all before …”

“I need Goober” he conceded.

And as soon as this was said, it was done. Goober appeared out of absolutely nowhere right before the astonished three standing in a pool of sewer spill.

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

Sack of Fairy Dust

Meanwhile in Faerie Land: Tu and Goober were having a catch up - the kind you have where a special space in the universe incorporates just the two of you perfectly. There is great solace in such moments of confiding - the confidence that comes with the sharing of a confidence - and although Goober had never fought in an army and Tu had not the far reaching memories of the seasoned Elvish, they had found a common ground, those two souls there together in Faerie.

“Here” said Goober, “take some of this with you” he motioned, picking up a handful of dirt and putting it into Tu’s rucksack directly.

“What is that?” the young Monk asked.

“Faerie dust,” said Goober … “most useful in the Mortal world - but you would be wise to use it sparingly - a little is all yer need.”

Tu was just about to ask him as how to use this dust, when Goober disappeared in front of him, without warning, right before his eyes.

Tu turned around thinking that Goober was hiding, or behind him - he stayed, looking expectantly, for he had grown so used to the tall Elf being at his side. It was unthinkable for him to have gone. And, leave him especially here.

Curiously he did not feel too badly as he might have done. He checked himself and a minute later realised that he was feeling perfectly fine - albeit all alone. The air of 

Faerie agreed with him, and his health was restored, his mind was calm, and his composure had returned.

What could possibly go wrong?

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

Swamp Monsters

Appearing like swamp monsters, four figures arose from the lake covered in a shroud of mud, groaning and complaining their way up and out of the water, dragging their slimy feet onto the banks.

“What are they?” Eve asked and then added, “what are they saying? is it another language?”

“These are the four that caused this calamity” said Jupiter sulkily - he absentmindedly touched his wrist where the elderly witches had constrained him. He was deeply embittered now about the whole experience.

The four figures were standing right in front of them babbling all together. It was not possible to see their eyes through the slather that coated their heads caked so thick in the their hair it was like a helmet stuck fast. They would not stop their mutterings beneath it - there were whines of complaint and protest.

“I can’t make out what they are saying”, said Eve, who sensed their discomfort by their cacophony of tones.

“That’s because I turned off their speech”, said Puck blithely.

“Turned off?” asked Eve, surprised at his casualness.

“Yes, you can do that here, if you find someone’s dialogue interruptive.”

“And thank the heavens for it I say” added Jupiter.

“It’s really a thing?” she asked disbelievingly,

“Yes, it’s a thing. I’ve done it to you several times when we needed to concentrate.”

That hurt.

“Oh” said Eve quietly, “I see …”

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

Was this Enchantment?

He shook himself to toss off the spurs when the blanket came away, and looked steadily at his captors. Jon could not believe his eyes - for right before him stood his stepmother. She was barely older than himself - dressed completely in green with a circlet of pearls around her neck - he almost did not recognise her. Winding up her arm were three beaten gold bangles, with deer and rabbits embossed upon them here and there chasing each other around her arm - and her feet were sandalled as he had not seen before. A perfume reached out to him that was of musk and moss, and forest rain. She seemed to be in good health, and by his judgement, most affluent too.

“Mama”, he addressed her as he had been taught to do.

She fondly brushed the dirt from his shoulders and glanced at the group that had walked him to this hideaway place, and they fell back in obeisance, disappearing into the trees once again. Only the short monk remained. 

“I live with the Elven community now”, she said affectionately - in a manner to put him at ease as quickly as possible. “They took me in and gave me everything I have.”

“Was this enchantment?” Jon asked himself - “Or a madness? Brain embargo? She had, after all, suffered so many blows to her head from Pa …”

“You should call me Isabelle - we both know that I am not truly your mother.” She was speaking plainly with a note of kindness and not in any way being immodest he noted. Thank the Gods. Isabelle appeared to be a relaxed and happy maiden, the likes he had not seen before.

Jon was much relieved to be pardoned from calling her ‘mother’. It had stung his tongue to have to name her such when he had missed his own true mother so sorely.

“Isabelle it is” he said, as he followed her deeper into the forest.

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

Stuck on the Road

Black pitch was melting in the heat - this was an experimental roadwork that had failed and the main arteries connecting the south to the sea had become tacky and unmanageable. Jon stopped to inspect his horse’s left front shoe to pry out the small balls of tar lodged within them.

He would have to cross the country and leave this impossible path. Abandoned carriages, lying sideways with missing wheels lay hunchback at the side of the sweating roadway. It simply would not do well to continue on like this. He was however loath to leave the sticky highway for the woods: it seemed an impossible choice. Recently there had been talk of scrubbers hiding out there (which they were called, as they lived and hid in the thorny scrub).

Jon paused to contemplate returning home - but he could not bring himself to forsake Zithia - who he felt almost sure would never have left him obligingly - and now, it was his task alone to save her.

He turned his horse sideways and pulled Chester from the tacky track into the mildewy forest that was dank with mouldy slime and cloistered in weeds.

* * *

Several tedious hours later he dismounted in a clearing by a brook. His mottled horse was drinking plentifully. Jon unravelled a knob of cooked meat from a linen pocket.

“Care to share?” came a voice from nowhere. Jon looked around yet could not see where the voice was coming from. Perfectly camouflaged, a very small but portly Friar stepped out of the brush towards him.

“Are ye a Chrystian man?” asked the small Monk to Jon, whose mouth was dry and still managing the salty meat.

Usually if no one is trying to talk with you a slow consumption is satisfying, making the meal more adequate. He grunted and nodded and turned his back to pull on a saddle bag, hoping the midget would go away. But the small Monk took hold of the Chester’s rope and tugged him back from the river.

“You canna take my ride! Get away with you now and leave us, by peace!” he blurted. The day was getting worse, and as it was, Chester was all he had left right now.

“I’m not taking your ride from you,” said the rotund man appearing to be quite offended, and with that he flung the saddle blanket from the horse over Jon’s head and three woodsmen stepped out from the trees to wrap the rope around him and bundle him back over Chester like a sack of turnips.

Through the coarse wool he could still hear voices - a deep callous one said: “Is this the one?”

Jon thought quickly … they had not found his purse as yet … nor had they beaten him. There was still yet a possibility in all of this, he surmised hopefully.

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