Fleshed Out, Part 2
Second part of a tale inspired by this image.
The next chapters will come in the following days… | Previous chapter
(Chapter II) Behind the Door of Doubt
Lithe and Soundless,
The Door Opened.
Opaque darkness rose like a silken veil to reveal a vast circular room bathed by a lunar light.
A great fire cracked cheerfully inside the hearth, and heat helped the prince regain a new strength. The difficult climbing of the icy steps, his whole tiredness, all that seemed to vanish.
“Welcome here!” a voice thundered
“Who art thou? “ asked the startled prince. He started to distinguish a ghostly form which was appearing in front of him.
“I am… a friend” answered the form, “But you can call me Tomos”.
The prince tried to make out his features, which seemed old. But the form changed, fluctuated, taking on multitudinous faces. Only his size remained the same, curiously large and impressive, but thin and slender as a large ash tree swooshing in the wind.
“Do not stay here speechless and staring at me as if I were a strange thing. Pray have a sit.”
The fascinated prince, still keeping his guard up, took a moleskin armchair which was in the middle of the room, at one of the foci of the oval formed by a long carpet embroidered with golden threads.
“You have travelled a long way to come up here” continued Tomos which now sat opposite, at the other focus of the ellipse.
“And you have questions, obviously. I can answer them, if you so desire”.
“Are you… a kind of Archmagus?” asked the prince
“To some extent”, answered Tomos still smiling “I, for one, remember the magic residing in each thing, which you will be ending acknowledging soon too.”
A new hope illuminated the features of the prince, who in his eagerness did not await the end of the sentence to say: “Then will you be able to help me to perhaps end this dream”
“Not as you believe it, but yes, I can help you”
A doubt crossed the spirit of the prince. Imagine the Archmagus was responsible for the fate that had befallen the entire court and the royal family? He had heard about some legends again now revived in his mind —of malevolent beings drawing sustenance from the vital essence of their victims, thus striving to sustain their own life beyond what was natural. The Archmagus then had to be quite famished, considering his ghostly appearance…
Tomos, who seemed to have read his thoughts, started to laugh. Or at least, the prince believed he had heard the clear sound of his laughter, because his features had not moved an inch.
The doubt was always there in the prince’s mind, and only sheer curiosity prickled him into staying seated.
That of course, and the fact of finally having somebody to talk to since… What a strange thought, he said to himself. He had spoken to his wife just a while before falling asleep…
Since he seemed at the mercy of this unusual host, he decided to see through it all, and continued to question him to be able to decide whether his saying was truth or not. Questions swelled in his mind and he did not know where to start:
“What do you know of this castle, and its inhabitants? And what is this evil striking them and eating me away as well? Why do I always return there in my dreams?”
“Your questions are numerous, and it will take you some time before you understand their answers” Tomos said to the prince, still smiling. “And as for time, we don’t have much left by now, because the veil thickens again. But in the future it will be enough for you to remember that you can find me.
In anticipation of our next meeting, I will give you a hint to answer your questions. When you are back to your other life, you will follow my messenger…”
At these words, the prince felt a heavy torpor that, little by little, compelled him to shut his eyelids…
A twitch brought him back to his sense; he was seated in one of the armchairs of the large hall, and it was almost daylight. He wondered how he had arrived here, whereas he should have been in his bed. With eyes still full of slumber, he saw that the rising sun was dyeing the fog of the neighbourhoods with pink. The beauty of the scenery was moving, and not knowing why, he could not take his eyes off of the scene. A feeling of fullness swathed him, and memories of his last dream unravelled like threads of light with the cirri that swirled around the reddish disc. The distant noises of the servants preparing the ovens which reached him in the large hall seemed so remote that he was not sure to really be awake. But another sound caught his attention, so near this time that he jolted.
A small bird was whistling vigorously on the edge of the nearest of the high and thin windows. How it had arrived there was a befuddling mystery. Its wings were blue with stripes of black, and it stopped to look at the prince of mischievous eyes, turning its head on a side. Then it flew away, and came to rest a little further. It turned over and continued to stare at the unbelieving prince. It continued to chirp, but this time, the prince had the impression to hear it speak. What did it say to him? Curiously, the last words of his dream returned to him “Messenger… could it be that this bird invites him to…?”
“Tweet tweet” answered the bird. So the prince followed it.
The bird settled on the branch of a withered tree near a shack. The prince had had to leave the castle, not without fearing to get lost in the thick fogs of the forest, but he had continued nonetheless. He had not even taken time to tell his wife, nor the King, because he felt so light and carefree, more and more, each time the bird was pausing to wait for him.
An old man lived in the shack. At once the prince recognized the old man whom he had met at the beginning of his journey, about one year from now.
“Hello old man” said the prince
“Hello my prince” answered the old man, with a respectful indifference, continuing to plait a wicker basket.
Disturbed by his behaviour, the prince started to doubt “I think that I am lost. Would you indicate me the way back to the castle? “
“I do not think that you are lost; it is easier to find the castle than to find my shack. Rather tell me the true reason of your being here”.
Impressed by the confidence of the old man, the prince began to tell him what had occurred since their meeting, from his discovery of the castle, his wedding and the recurring dream that haunted him. The old man listened to him still plaiting his basket and swinging slightly his head, from left to right, in a soft gentle move. When the prince had finished, he spoke
“What an interesting tale, is it not… He-he… What does then make my prince believe that the part where his subjects are changed into statues is his dream, whereas this is reality?”
“What a strange question… “ The prince had a thousand points that rushed to his mind to deny this impertinent question, but oddly, he could not oppose any of them. He could only answer…
“And why not the opposite? This life seems real enough”.
“Ah, but I did not say that this life was not real. But you seem to think that the other is not as much as real, even if everything impels you to admit it”.
“But how could both lives be real?”
“And what would you tell me if I say to you that one year ago, I lived in this shack. So, how could have met you as you claimed it, beyond the Valley?”
“But… That’s impossible” retorted the flabbergasted prince “We met when I journeyed towards this kingdom… That was barely twelve moons ago…”
“You told that already, I have heard you perfectly,” the old man answered with a touch of reproach that made the prince blush involuntarily. He continued again with softness “I didn’t tell anything because I wished to hear all your history without your being disturbed. Obviously you have a foot in our two worlds, and it is advisable to pay great attention, for this is of significance…”
“But… that means that while we speak, I am perhaps dying of cold in this large hall? Or perhaps worse, I became a statue? All of this makes no sense… And what about my child, is he only a figment of my mind? And all of these people, how to save them? “
The prince thought he was becoming insane, that the old man was tricking him. But, if it were true? And why, in the hall of the statues, did he remember only partially this life and his bonds with each petrified person, as if it also were only one dream…
The old man began again with a sparkle of humour in the eyes “I believe that dragons and witches became too rare for young people in search of adventure, and in truth, it is an interesting challenge that you have chosen…”
“Will you help me then to overcome the curse, will you tell me what to do?”
“Why, of course, I can help you. Now, tell me first why you created it, to begin with… “
The prince was bemused. “What does that mean? I do not understand”
“You heard me perfectly. Answer to me: why did you create this curse to begin with?” The old man had surely lost his marbles. The prince was not even able to do such a feat, and even if he had been a wizard with such awesome power, he would never have wanted to do such an infamous thing.
The writer was perplexed. He put down his quill one second and through the French windows behind him he began to look at the sky now cleared up by the powerful winds which had blown in this twilight of solstice.
The old man was right, why had he created it? He had the definite impression that the question which he had just written without thinking was addressed as much to the prince as it was to himself. However, he had only wished to write a tale for children.
Was it really only a mere tale?
In fact, when he had started, he did not even know what he was going to write, and the words had come to him without much of the usual pondering. He had not hypergraphy however, this kind of compulsion to write that schizophrenic people sometimes have. It was even quite the contrary. It had been months he did not manage to write —that he was not able to resolve to write.
Each time, ideas germinated, but at once he denied existence to them, considering them too hollow, too shallow… In fact,… not enough. What a mediocre writer he was.
When he had started to read the first lines of his tale, he had been caught in the game. He had rediscovered the magic in writing, propelled by a spur of excitation. In fact, he wanted the prince to succeed in his quest, but he did not know exactly how to help him without taking from him the freedom to explore by himself.
It was strange, indeed, but the character was not just one mere being of paper. Although, deliberately, he had not given him a first name, he had one for him… and it was it his own. Well, not exactly, rather his nickname. Zeke.
Now, he had brought the prince where he was, and his situation pointed out all too well his own predicament to him —so that it was impossible for him to do what he was usually doing: impossible to throw the manuscript in the waste bin and to try to forget the whole thing.
The improvement this time was that he was really free to do what he wanted to in this world of paper. He had completely created it, and he could shape it as pleased him.
Moreover, he had precisely done that at the very moment. He had taken over the half-written paragraph he did not know how to complete —the ascent of the tower and the war carried out by the armies of the King— and while reading again what was written, he had realized that something was missing and had written this episode with one stroke of the pen.
Joy of literary arts, where past can be rewritten to fill a slight fault of logic. In fact, just while he had been adding some paragraphs, he came up with the idea of that tower of extraordinary size, and thus started to give more substance to the castle.
Therefore, objectively, the old man was right. He had created this curse, and he could raise it as simply as he had created it. But in this case, the quest of the prince wouldn’t have more sense than his own life.
And the fact that tales are intended to children it is not fortuitous. The small girl he had met that very morning had reminded him how demanding the questions of children were, and deep under their innocent guises. So many people had lost that faculty to question the “why” of things…
He felt that he hopelessly sought his way like a child, amidst the darkness of the kingdom of Humbra.
A thought made him shiver. A vision of characters within characters, connected one to the other by invisible bonds, each link strengthening the chain while bringing forth an new element… Each one helped the other to remember that he had the capacity to create whole worlds, and better still, events necessary so that he remembers his power.
Aaaah. He sighed. He had perhaps all that power, but the prince did not think that he had some. Moreover, in his shoes, he would not have believed this himself either.
And more important, he had not found the meaning that connected the events between them. He had still not found it… But he was going to continue to seek, and write.
Recent Comments