A lovely poem, is it not? Perhaps not in subject matter - although there is a certain bleak beauty to destruction - but certainly in writing. A very evocative voice.
This story - or perhaps stories, plural, is more accurate - has nothing to do with the poem, but I do hope that I can capture some of that poetic style in them. I will leave it up to you, the reader, to decide if I was successful.PREAMBLE
The Town lies in the in the middle of a low plain, and when the season is especially rainy, the houses sink lower into the plain - one day, they will surely all sink below the surface of the earth. But before this happens, the people of the Town will keep house, tending to the crawling vines that surround their houses, caring for the slow beasts that lumber across the plains twice-yearly, and whittling their masks. For in the Town, all - adult and child alike - are masked, in beautiful, elaborate masks. They wear masks of all things, humans, beasts, forces of the wild - all that matters is that they are masked. There is only one in this Town who remains unmasked, and that is - as you may guess - the Wanderer.
The children of the Town flock to the Wanderer, unused as they are to their unmasked face, and, on some days, when the wind blows the right way and the light catches on the clouds and casts the whole world* into a soft twilight; on days like that, when everything seems to fall into balance, the Wanderer will tell the children a story.Today is one of those days.
STORY ONE: THE MOUNTAINS THAT HOLD UP THE SKY
once, long ago, before the Town was built [here, the children chatter and murmur amongst themselves - the Town not having been built yet? Impossible! The Town has always been here, surely. And the Wanderer tells them to quiet down, and listen to the story, and they do so, minds full of doubt.] there was a wide and rushing river that flowed through the centre of the low plain. And one day, the Wanderer, in their many travels, came across this river. And, mind full of curiosity, they decided to see where it came from.
They followed the river upstream, walking tirelessly through the days and sleeping soundly through the nights, until they reached the foothills of the mountains. Here, they realise that the river comes from somewhere high in the peaks, and begin to climb in hopes of finding the wellspring it flows from.
The days and nights become colder, the higher they climb, and the air becomes thinner - so thin that, at points, they almost feel as if they are drowning while dry, and have to pause for hours until they have properly caught their breath.
At times, they feel as if they will never reach the source, and will die in the service of their curiosity - but they cast these thoughts from their mind, ascribing them to the lack of air. Still, they push onwards.
Eventually, after what feels like an eternity of climbing, they reach the peak of the mountain, and there; above the clouds, so high it seems they could almost touch the sun, if they just reached out - they find a castle.
STORY TWO: THE CASTLE ABOVE THE CLOUDS, AND THE LONELY COURT
[the children are wide-eyed and open-mouthed now, all skepticism lost. They beg for the story to continue, and - seeing that the perfect twilight has not yet faded - the Wanderer concedes to them.]They tell of walking up the steps to the open door of the castle, of walking inside, of finding - in the centre of the castle - a bottle, slightly ajar on the ground, from which flowed the trickle that would become the river. At last, they had found the source of the river - but that was quickly cast from their mind, as they saw that the bottle had fallen from a table, and at that table was the Sovereign.
She sat at the head of the table, wearing a simple mask of deep blue, and she stood as she saw the Wanderer approaching."I am the ruler of the sky, commander of the winds and the rains. The Sun and Moon are my besotted hounds, and the stars my subjects. These are my mountains, and it is my palace, here, where I hold my court." She swings her hand in a sweeping gesture towards the quiet figures seated around the table, who watch the Wanderer hungrily. "Who are you to interrupt me?"
The Wanderer begs for her forgiveness, explaining themself to be simply a traveller, searching for the source of the great river that covered the plains! And now that they had found it, they would happily leave her and her court in peace, and-"A traveller, you say? You must have many stories. Sit for a while, tell me of where you have been and what you have seen."
Reluctantly, the Wanderer agrees, seeing no way to refuse without offending her. And so, they sit, and tell her stories - stories of finding the cold fire that burns beneath the clear desert, stories of the Quiet Forest with the Deep River, and of their travels with it, stories of the great prison-library that sits in the centre of the ocean (which they were lucky to escape from with their life), stories of the sweet flower-forests that are filled with a thousand and one snakes, and many more stories beside. [the children have never heard any of these stories before, and they demand to hear them now - the Wanderer tells them one day, one day. All things will come in time.]Until, at last, the Wanderer feels that surely that has been enough stories. Surely, now, they have made up for their trespass? They rise from their seat, and ask the Sovereign to grant them absence.
She refuses."You shall remain in my castle, until I am satisfied - and I am not yet satisfied." The quiet court has drawn closer, clustering around the Wanderer, and are beginning to tug curiously at their cloak. They begin to hear whispers creeping out from behind the courts' large white masks - hungry so hungry join us stay here we are hungry you are hungry stay here hungry
Seeing their distraction, the Sovereign picks up the fallen bottle, and pushes the cork back in fully. As she does so, the trickle of water on the ground dries up near-instantly, and although the Wanderer cannot see it, so too does the river on the plains. She offers the bottle to them, as a gift, and then gestures for them to sit again, and continue telling stories. They sit.They tell many more stories, so many that they are beyond counting, until they are so tired they can barely hold their head up. The court has completely surrounded them now, so many whispers in their ears - stay stay hungry you stay hungry you hungry hungry here stay join us hungry join stay hungry hungry stay hungry stay stay stay stay stay hungry
The Wanderer can feel themself beginning to fade away, and they know that if they stay here any longer they will become part of the court. If they don't leave soon, they will miss their chance.They stand, shaking off the court, and take a step back from the table. The Sovereign rises from her seat too, beginning to speak, beginning to command them to remain and continue telling their stories - but they cut her off. They tell her that they will not remain here, in this empty castle, surrounded by a court does nothing but whisper of hunger, weaving stories just to entertain a lonely ruler. That they will leave this place, and that she cannot stop them.
The Sovereign's mask hides her face, but they can almost see the expression of wrath that forms underneath it. She raises her hand and the sky darkens, the air beginning to crackle, the wind beginning to howl in the Wanderer's ears - and they throw the corked bottle onto the ground, where it shatters.A great gout of water bursts out from where the bottle broke, hitting the Wanderer straight in the chest and pushing them back, as more water rushes all around them and then - the water hits the walls, and the castle crumbles. The sound of stone cracking is the last thing they hear before everything goes dark.
*or the Town and the surrounding plains, at least, which are the whole world to the inhabitants of such.