Abbalar Tales ~ 12

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 12 Mandrell

By Len Morgan

They slipped into a routine, in the weeks, following Aldor’s flight.  They would walk out to the edge of town each evening, to unwind, after their storytelling.   After a particularly intense session, they would take in the calm atmosphere at the fringes of the desert.   It seemed to help them wind down, to centre their thoughts and recharge their spiritual and emotional energy.   They would invariably stand gazing up at the sky, for half an hour or more, before one of them broke the silence.   The sky was so clear and bright, the silence so complete, away from the lights and the bustle of town.   They continued to gaze upon the firmament until one of them spoke, tonight it was Wizomi.

"I have received news that Aldor reached his destination safely, and will shortly be returning to us."

"Good news!   Now I can rest easier," she sighed, "We've only known each other a short while but I do miss him very much."    They stood in silence once more experiencing the variable and subtle air currents coming from the west.   The sky was a deep red, Veinen was partially occluded by Vexen, and only a single blue crescent rimmed the red orb." Soon there will be blood flowing in the streets of Bluttland" Wizomi commented, "less than two weeks to a major conjunction." 

"Is that so?   I thought that was merely a tale to frighten children," she said.

Wizomi did not answer and the silence stretched once more.

"Ever since I rescued him from the desert, I have felt a certain responsibility for him.   Do you think the old saying is true?"

"There are so many old saying, to which do you refer?"

"If you save a life, you are responsible for that person’s actions, as if they were your own?"   He smiled, "I would rather believe that we are responsible for our own actions.   I believe that you were fated to act as you did, you could therefore change nothing."

"I've been alone most my life, and quite content with my lot.   Then of a sudden, I met him and my life was changed; for the better, I think."

Wizomi looked long and hard at her then smiled.   "It could of course simply be part of growing up but, I have known you for an even shorter period yet, I have grown very attached to you both.   It is certainly a mystery; it is part of the wondrous matrix the magic of life."

On impulse, she gave him a hug.   "Thank you for those comforting words, we are fortunate indeed to have such a friend."   Briefly, she squeezed her eyes closed and two tiny jewels of moisture traversed her cheeks.   She smiled, shook her head sharply, and the tears were gone.   For a fleeting instant, she thought to kiss him but resisted the urge.  

He waited, expectantly but, it never came.   He smiled wanly, "Come, I'll walk you back to the ‘Travellers Rest’."

"If you don't mind, I would like to be alone, for a while."

"As you wish but, do not stay too long, you know how cold it becomes when the desert cools.   I will see you tomorrow morning." He smiled and headed towards his own dwelling, it was small but comfortable, and adequately suited to his needs.   On his way he passed some late revellers, two young women and a man he vaguely recalled, he had seen them talking at length with Jazim just prior to her departure for Pylodor.   They would probably be heading back by now, having discovered Aldor did not return there after all.  He entered the unlit house, found his bed from memory, and lay down fully clothed.

‘Jazim, now there was a woman,’ he thought, as his eyes closed, he fell into the welcome arms of sleep.

.-…-. 

It was mid-morning when he arrived at the Travellers Rest, to discover, Genna had not returned there the previous evening.   He retraced his steps to where he had left her, fully expecting to discover her still curled up in the small grove of fig trees they frequented.   But, she was nowhere to be seen and the clearing, where they had been, was badly scuffed.   Although there were still a number of clear prints, in evidence, his were not amongst them.   Closing his eyes, he searched for her presence and was drawn at once to the edge of the clearing.   He opened his eyes and scanned the area.   He was on the point of giving up when he saw something, partially buried in the sand, sparkling.   It was her amulet, twin to the one she had given to Aldor as a parting gift.   He retrieved it and noted a link had broken; he put it in his pocket and looked further.   There was a pathway close by, leading away from the town; he followed it to a herdsman's hut that had recently been occupied.   There were wheel tracks leading in a nor-westerly direction and fresh evidence of horses, four or five he surmised, all shod with a pattern common in Corvalen.   He knew who they were, without further evidence, but not where they were taking her.   Retracing his steps, taking care not to step on any prints, he identified three people.   Two were women, with small feet; the other was a heavy-laden man.   His footprints were deep.   They met with the mounted group, who Genna referred to as ‘dog soldiers’, and returned to town by another route when they had been paid for their work.   He needed to know for sure where she was being taken and so, he followed the three back to Mandrell.

It was late afternoon before he located one of the young women.   A few discrete enquiries, and there she was at the bar of the Potters Wheel.  She was settling the recconing for a round of drinks being enjoyed by a group of her peers.  

He approached her and made eye contact, “where have they taken her." He whispered.

She reacted as though he had shouted at her.   "She will be taken back to Corvalen, the palace I believe."

"Thank you," he said and turned away.  

She shook her head but did not look in his direction when he glanced back at her she was laughing and already engaged in deep conversation with a young man, as though they had never spoken.   He smiled, for he knew she would not remember a thing.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 

 

TOWEL DOWN!

by Rosemary Clarke

Stop wiping out all your mistakes
as though they've never been
you're only in the government
not the King or Queen!
Stop hiding behind parliament
and all your cronies there
stop making lots of stupid rules.
Do you really care?
This disease closes down our lives
but what about our dreams?
We do not know just where we stand
with your convoluted schemes!
You act like a puppet master
but we will not be led
by people who are lying,
TELL US THE TRUTH INSTEAD!
Let us know ALL good and bad
and what's REALLY being done

Then everyone will work it out
we can help everyone.
if you insist on playing fools
And treating us like kids
I would say your place in Westminster
is really on the skids.
Many have seen much of life
we've all done many things
so let us know, we'll take the strife
and help others to bring.

But most of all just LISTEN
to what the people say
we KNOW it's FAR worse than we thought
that things are not okay.
We want to help, but you insist
on keeping us like blind
the things you're doing to this land
are really most unkind.
We're human animals all of us
and we DESERVE the test
tell us the TRUTH, let us decide
we will do our best.
It was the people who won wars
not only those in power
and yet you sit there with your pack
up in your Ivory tower.
ALL of us DESERVE the BEST
ALL RACES, COLOURS & CREEDS
So TELL US and we'll do the rest
That's what this country needs!

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 11

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 11 Jellonan 

By Len Morgan 

"He's not really a bad man you know, honourable after his own fashion, just trying to make a living as best he can."

"That is true," said Aldor smiling as he turned to appraise Orden.  "You are not so strange," he said, "In fact, I have several half-sisters uglier than you."

Orden smiled back "That's the best greeting I’ve had in centuries.   It’s a shame about your kin though."  They both laughed.

"Wizomi thinks we can make a passable co-ordinator of you, what think you?"

"I could answer better if only I had an inkling as to what a coordinator is.   But, to be honest he gave me the impression you would be able to assist me in gaining my birthright, for I still intend to be the next Caliph of Corvalen."

"Fear not, we will certainly help you to reach your potential, whatever that may be.   You could never achieve it without our help, if you tried for Corvalen now, you would almost certainly find yourself back on the wheel of life within days rather than weeks.  There are dozens of bands, just like Skaa’s, hunting your kin even as we speak.   Whereas give me but two weeks of your life and I will give you eternity, a prize to make Corvalen pale in significance."

"So where exactly, on this pile of rocks, do you live?"

"Two days brisk walking and one more significant obstacle away,” he replied.   “Come let us walk sprout," he said slapping Aldor playfully on the shoulder, stepping out along the narrowest of footpaths.” 

Aldor sagged momentarily under the weight of his hand.

"You’re not human," Aldor commented in exasperation.

"You noticed."

"Neither are you dwarf nor Troll."

"Thank you for that dubious observation."

"I have never seen nor heard of anybody like you before; I should like to know where you are from?"

"I am a Jellonan, my people live a great distance from here.   There is no other like me on Abbalar."

"You talk as if there are other worlds.   You spoke earlier of centuries as if they meant nothing, I think you have a lot to explain on this journey we are embarking upon."

"That is the truth," he raised a hand to place on Aldors shoulder, the boy ducked neatly aside avoiding it.   Orden nodded his understanding.   "Mayhap we should start with astronomy…" 

.-…-. 

   Two days can pass in an instant when you are in the company of an intellectual giant.   Aldor soon realised how small Abbalar is and, how diminutive was Corvalen.   Weeks earlier it had been the centre of the universe, now it seemed as insignificant as a pimple on his buttocks.

"Wizomi knows all you have told me?   Of science, chemistry, physics, metallurgy, magic, & mechanics, all that stuff about travelling the airways at incredible speeds?"

"He does."  

"Then why does he waste his time telling stories…"

"Instead of?"

"Well, Improving things, inventing, teaching and such."

"He had a more important task he was performing for me."

"What could be more important than bringing about change?" he asked.

"Why, he was looking for you sprout, seeking you out!"

   They stopped early on the second day, at the foot of a climb, they would be attempting the following morning.   As he drew his blanket over him he carefully reviewed his impressions of the Jellonan.   He had taken an instant liking to Orden 'the rock' which was how he had increasingly begun to think of him.   He was unlike any adult Aldor had ever met before in his short life.   His mind seemed totally unaffected by the ravages of time as if he were in a state of eternal youth.   He looked the man over critically.   He was squat and muscular, almost as broad as he was tall.   His deep gravelly baritone voice boomed out, every inch the equal of Skaa's, as it re-echoed from the surrounding hills.   Somebody less enlightened might be excused for describing him as dwarfish, in truth he was anything but that.   He was a giant!  What he lacked in stature he more than compensated for with physical strength and intelligence.   Neither man nor myth, he defied definition.   When he looks you straight in the eyes you can either answer honestly, telling him what he wants to hear, or you act dumb and look away, one thing you cannot do is lie.   His deep violet eyes flash with life and smoulder with an inner fire, iridescent flecks of yellow and red made them both hypnotic and fascinating.   His skin is elephantine the texture of hard leather, a deep mahogany tan.   His hair is sparse and wispy grey-blue, and when he smiles the image is complete.   He is transformed, becoming totally childlike, full of mischief, vitality and curiosity, qualities totally absent in adult humans.

"Years have no bearing on age," he said.   "When you cease to seek the diversity of life and fail to gaze in wonder at its creations, you start to reject them and the ageing process begins."

"But, life is so complex, what is there to reject," asked Aldor.

"If you live as long as I, you will see that variety is overwhelmed by repetition.   Seeing the same mistakes, endlessly repeated is the greatest source of frustration and sadness, for me."

The young man became silent and reflective and remained so for some considerable time before asking a question.   "What then, in your opinion, is the answer?"

"A very perceptive question," it was Orden’s turn to pause, in deep thought, "Progress!   Building on past failures, to prevent the seeds of repetition from germinating."

"Meaning?"   Aldor persisted.

"Learn from mistakes and prevent them from happening again by providing viable alternatives whenever repetition is imminent."

"But, if a situation is new to me, how will I know what has been tried before, which will be repetition and which innovation?"

“Wizomi chose well, you have potential.   History can provide a guide only because it is a view seen through the eyes of the victor."

Aldor did not answer; he waited until it was obvious Orden would not enlarge on his statement.

“The stories are true, are they not?”

“Stories?”

“Wizomi tells stories of ancient kingdoms, brave new worlds inhabited by long-dead races.   He retells the deeds of the great and wise kings, of lands where the succession goes automatically to the firstborn who inherits from his father by right of birth.   Think on that.   Think of all the lives lost in the Kull that could have been spared, all the knowledge and experience that is lost, all that wasted potential.”

“But, it is your Birth Right sprout!”   Orden smiled smugly.

Aldor sneered, “I begin to wonder.   Each of my brothers has his own unique talents for which he is renowned.   Each has given a lifetime of study and dedication, yet many of them will die, and for what?   I must return to Corvalen, I must put a stop to this madness!”

“As you are you can do nothing, their best chance for the future is for you to learn what I and others can teach you before you ever consider returning.   Then you must tell the stories where they can do the most good.   Spread them throughout the known world.”

They walked on a while in reflective silence.   Both lost in their own personal vision of the future, of how Abbalar could be changed for the better, reflecting on their own personal involvement in bringing that about.

“Have you ever played Kingdoms sprout?”

“It is just a game for old men!”

“It’s applied strategy, and mirrors life.”

“Thirty-two pieces on a chequered board?”

“All the elements are there.   If you can find solutions in the game, you can find them in life.”

“Impossible!” Aldor replied in a dismissive tone.

“Strip away the dross; the trimmings, the superfluous, and what remains are real problems awaiting solution.   Kingdom’s is a useful aid in problem-solving.”

“No!   It’s a game, just a boring game and that is all.”

“Why so anti sprout?   If it’s just a game why is it so important that you avoid it?”

“Back home in Corvalen, my mentors attempted to force me to play the game.   They used threats, and bribes when that didn’t work; they took away my favourite horse.   But I still refused to play, because I did not enjoy it.”

Then you were a fool.   But even a fool can change.”

“Not me.  No!”   He said with finality.

“There have been places where people ceased fighting wars, where all disputes between – houses, towns, cities, and nations – were settled by champions.   They employed their athletic prowess, horsemanship, and their expertise at games, to resolve disputes.”

“That is crazy.”

“Is it?   Think on the lives that were saved, and the advantages of teaching people to play the game well.   Its strategies range far beyond a board of sixty-four squares.”

“It could never work in reality, at least, not for long.   Another race from over the mountains, who did not know the rules, would come and simply conquer the lands by force of arms.    They would take all the wealth accumulated, during the long period of peace and stability. Then enslave your populace and the grand experiment will be at an end.”

“Again you point out the flaw in the theory,” Orden chuckled.   “That is in fact what happened, in at least one instance, where the grand design was attempted.”

“So what then is your point?”

“The game ‘Kingdoms’ is a tool used to train the mind, to improve concentration and promote right thinking.  It provides techniques that enable people to select the best course of action in any given circumstance, for their own good and for the good of all.”

“But most people simply want to live their lives in the easiest and most uncomplicated way possible,” Aldor argued.

“I agree whole-heartedly, but in order for that to happen, their leaders – and somebody has to administer things – will have to concern themselves with the more weighty problems of existence.”

“Yes.   That is why we have administrators in our courts, to ensure things run smoothly.”

“Who then ensures they do their jobs well, that they all work together towards the same goal, instead of needlessly wasting scarce resources?”

“The King, Khaan, Caliph, Emperor, whatever you call your leader…”

“I call him the co-ordinator, and you said yourself it was your birthright!”

“But you said you would not help me become Caliph!”

“I said I would help you to reach your true potential.   Were you really so bad at Kingdoms, that you could not bear to play the game at all?” he asked, his face revealing his disbelief.

“No!   On the contrary, I was very good at it, in fact, I have never been beaten,” he explained with an unaccustomed look of modesty on his face.   “But, after a while, every move is so obvious and predictable.   The most infuriating thing was, my opponents always looked and acted so surprised when I beat them, ending the game with what seemed an obvious sequence of moves.   At first, I thought they were deliberately letting me win.   Then one of my instructors accused me of cheating, and went for me with a cane, he said there was no way a ten-year-old could execute such moves, I was being helped somehow.   That was when I refused to play.   His moves had been so obvious, totally lacking in subtlety…”

“I’ll make you an offer.   Play one game against me, just one.   Then if you win, and still feel the same way, I will never ask you to play again.”

“Done!”   Aldor replied at once.

“Good!   Now we are getting somewhere.”

“Does that mean we can stop walking in circles around this damned mountain?”

Orden smiled, shaking his head in amusement “follow me,” he said and they climbed down to the lower Plateau.

   Within half an hour they came in sight of a cave complex faced by a small clearing.   It was around five in the evening of a fine summer’s day.   Autumn was still a few months away, and the now-familiar sounds of insects and birds intensified as the day approached its end.   They were fifty yards from the cave, as they entered the clearing, the sounds of life persisted then suddenly they were behind instead of all around.   Within that clearing there was nothing, not even grass grew, it was as if there was an invisible barrier separating outside from inside.   As he crossed the divide he was at once conscious of an intense prickling sensation down his spine and experienced a deep sense of foreboding, coupled with an irresistible urge to turn and flee from that place as fast as he could go.   He did not and the fear intensified becoming terror, almost impossible to resist.   He hesitated as his confidence ebbed away, his mind became set on leaving, just one more step and it stopped, as if somebody had slammed a door shut.   “Uh!” he cried out involuntarily, in shock, and stumbled.

“Only a very special kind of creature can penetrate the veil, but once you have done so, you have immunity for life.   Unlike your captors at the foot of this mountain, who could no more enter the foothills, than restore life to the dead.”

“Skaa?”

“He knew that where you went he could follow, but he could never return alone.” 

(To be continued)

 

Copyright Len Morgan

 

MAN AGAINST THE ELEMENTS

Peter Woodgate 

One day I thought I would be clever

and get one over on the weather.

there was this trip down to the coast,

“I’ll be prepared,” they heard me boast.

the forecast told the night before,

of sunshine, clear, from shore to shore.

But I did not buy that, you see,

and Michael Fish did not fool me,

was it in nineteen eighty-seven

he spoke of gentle winds from heaven?

And when I woke there greeted me

my greenhouse perched up in a tree.

Oh no, this fickle English air

would not defeat me, I’d take care,

I’d be prepared and have my fun

be it rain or snow or sun.

I chose my clothes the night before

and laid them out upon the floor,

some woolly gloves and thermal vest,

a duffle coat, that would be best,

just in case the wind was cool

they couldn’t say I was a fool.

But underneath my jeans, I’d wear

swimming trunks so I could share

the pleasure dipping in the brine

just in case the sun did shine.

My sweatshirt too had many charms

and could be unzipped at the arms

and just to show there was no folly,

I’d take my telescopic brolly.

All was set and on the day,

the coach arrived, we roared away.

I felt conspicuous, I confess,

For all-around was naked flesh.

Tiny shorts and skimpy tops,

no decent shoes just cheap flip-flops.

But I was feeling smug inside

when an enormous cloud I spied

and by the time we had alighted

the clear blue sky was truly blighted.

Huge dark clouds were everywhere

but frankly, I just didn’t care.

I took a walk down to the sea

my head held high triumphantly.

The wind it howled, the rain did pour

but I just stood there on the shore,

I looked up to the heavens in glee,

smiled, and thought, “you can’t fool me.”

 

What happened next, was very frightening,

I saw a flash and got struck by lightning!

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 

 IT'S LOO-DI-CRASS! 

by Rosemary Clarke

Heard the latest on Southend
The councillors are round the bend
This is the most important news...
THEY'VE GONE AND CLOSED ALL OF THE LOOS!
So if for edibles you shop
Southend's not the place to stop.
And don't you be caught out in there
Or you will soil your underwear.
Make quite sure of your bus I think
Or you will make a dreadful stink!
 
It seems I have just made a mistake
If to the loo you wish to take
An open one on Southend beach
From open shops, it's out of reach.
So, if a penny you will spend
Don't go looking in Southend.

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 

 

The Sweet Man

By Janet Baldey

‘Soul mates.’ 

‘We were made for each other.’

‘You bring colour to my life.’

Well used phrases, frayed around the edges yet they sounded brand new as he looked into my eyes, his hands cupping my face.   They (he) made me feel special.   They (he) made me feel that, at last, I’d found the man I’d been waiting for.

Both married, although not to each other and not happily, he told me about his wife the first time we went out together.   Tucked into a dim alcove of a local pub, our knees touching as a log fire spat and distant laughter swirled towards us, his face was solemn.   

‘Agoraphobic.  Terrified of germs.   She hasn’t left the house for fifteen years.   Her mother used to live a few doors down the road and just before she died, Rachael forced herself to visit.   When she got back, before she entered the house, she stripped off all her clothes and hosed herself down in the back garden.   Then she spent a full hour in the shower, scrubbing herself sore.   I wasn’t allowed to bring her clothes back in - had to burn them.’

In turn, I told him about Aleck.    He was twenty years older than me, a violinist who lived for his music.   I suppose I was sort of trophy wife, someone he could feel proud to have on his arm but then I fell pregnant and it all changed.  When our daughter was born I couldn’t go away on tour with him and when he got back, he couldn’t stand to hear her cry;  he had sensitive ears, couldn’t bear ugly noise, he said.   As she grew older it didn’t get any better, whenever her prattle disturbed him, he snapped like a vicious dog and retreated to his study.   Soon, he began to stay away for longer periods.   I’m pretty sure he had another woman but by that time I was past caring.   Amelia and I were better off on our own.   Even now, with Amelia married and Aleck retired and back home, I still don’t care although I’ve a cold spot deep inside that nothing can warm.

Joe had nodded slowly and sipped his beer.

‘I think we’ve got a lot in common. I’m so glad we met.’

But I hadn’t been.  Not at first.  I didn’t like change and when my previous boss left for pastures greener, I’d worried and asked around.  

‘What’s he like, this new chap?   The one that’s taking over from Bob.’

‘Oh, he’s nice.  You’ll like him.  He’s a sweet man.’

His looks didn’t impress, tall and stoop-shouldered, with pale eyes that had spent too much time staring at a computer screen, he certainly wasn’t the sort to bowl a maiden over.   But, when he smiled it was as if he’d been lit from within and that was all it took to change my mind.

Joe reached across the table and as his hand covered mine, I felt a delicious tingle.  

‘Of course, I could never leave Rachael.  It would destroy her.’

As for me, who could leave a 70-year-old man without a domesticated bone in his body?  

Seven years is a long time and I have so many memories.   Stolen nights spent together when Aleck was on tour and Joe was supposed to be at a conference.   Every Tuesday was special.   I took an evening course in Spanish simply because they were held on that day when Joe was supposed to be at his camera club.   Needless to say, I didn’t progress in Spanish and Joe almost forgot how to take photographs.  Instead, we spent the evenings tangled together in the back seat of the cinema like the couple of teenagers we felt ourselves to be.   Romantic candle-lit suppers long walks in the country, the occasional lecture on ancient history, we were happy just to be together.   And when we weren’t, there were always the text messages.   I learned to live for my Nokia.   In the early years, the little yellow envelope would pop up hourly, sometimes more.   We had long-running ‘themes’ in which we’d each try to outdo the other in frivolity, the messages zipping through the ether like quickfire only falling silent when our imaginations failed.   Once, I remember going on holiday with Aleck and missing Joe so much that I sent him a text.   ‘I’M MISERABLE.  SAY SOMETHING FUNNY’.   I got a one word reply - ‘MARTIN’ -   the name of a pompous colleague we used to laugh at.   And always, last thing at night, those twin messages ‘CAN’T WAIT TO SEE YOU AGAIN.’

He always said he could talk to me about anything and know I’d understand.   One day in the park, a small boy had fallen over just in front of him.  

‘He just lay there red-faced and bawling with pain and shock.   Without thinking, I picked him up and brushed him down.   I heard a scream and looked up to see a woman running towards me.   She shouted something and, for the first time, I saw myself through someone else’s eyes.   A shabby, middle-aged man who might just as well have had the word‘PAEDO’ branded on his forehead.    I just turned and walked away feeling as if I’d done something wrong.’  

He’d looked at me and his eyes were raw.  

‘I can’t tell Rachael.  It would upset her.’

I’d squeezed his hand, not knowing what to say.  The sad thing was, I could imagine what had been going through that woman’s mind and even worse, I sympathised.   Joe had never cared about his appearance, just threw on whatever was to hand and as he did his own laundry, it tended to be crumpled.   If I’d been that woman maybe I would have reacted in the same way.  

The end, when it came, was insidious.  Foreboding tottering on baby steps towards realisation.  When he could, Joe gave me a lift to work.  I’d meet him at the ‘bus stop so as not to arouse suspicion.   It always gave me a thrill to see his car parked up waiting for me and he never let me down.   One day I got in and started prattling on about something, I forget what now.   He made a slight noise and when I looked at him my world teetered on its axis.   There was an expression on his face I hadn’t seen before.   Exasperation?   Irritation?  Boredom?   I stared.   Then his face cleared, he grinned and was his old self again.   But unsettled, I watched for other signs and when they came, dwelled on them obsessively.  

He told me about a man who fell asleep at the wheel because he’d been texting his girlfriend all night.  

‘All night!’

‘Must have been the start of their relationship.’  

His voice was bitter and a chill worked its way down my spine.   His text messages to me had been steadily dwindling.

His very last was one that read ‘FEEL SO DOWN, SO LOW’.   Immediately, I replied.

‘WHAT’S WRONG DARLING?  DON’T WORRY.  I STILL LOVE YOU AS MUCH AS EVER.’

I never did get a reply.

The next day, I accompanied Aleck on a planned holiday to Venice and trailed around after him, wilting in the heat, my face aching from holding a fixed smile in place.  In the evenings, I sat in silence while he argued with the waiters, feeling sick at heart and worried to death.   I still hadn’t heard from Joe and at last, in desperation, had asked him outright.   ‘DO YOU WANT TO END OUR RELATIONSHIP?’    Minutes, hours, days, my mobile remained dead and I knew I had my answer.   Even so, I couldn’t quell a faint flicker of hope – after all, ‘phones do malfunction.

I thought everyone could hear the thudding of my heart as I walked into the office on my return.   The first thing I did was to look towards his desk.   It was stripped bare and I felt the blood leave my face.     People looked at me strangely when I asked.   Early retirement - it had been planned months ago.

I still don’t understand why.   Had I grown too demanding, perhaps tedious?   Was there really such a thing as the ‘seven year itch’ or was it simply that we’d been on a train going nowhere and it had just reached the buffers?

‘Get it all down on paper.’  My counsellor said.   ‘Write it out of your system and when you’re done, burn it.    It’ll help, I promise.  It’s cathartic.’

I strike a match and hear it sizzle just before I feed it the paper.   The edges blacken and curl before being consumed by the hungry orange mouth and soon only a mound of silvery ash remains.  I reach out a finger and poke it, seven years of my life - the happiest ones.  I wonder if the counsellor is right.  If she is, why am I still crying and why can’t I forget that look on his face?    

 Copyright Janet Baldey

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

        

 

 

 

     

        

 

 

Abbalar Tales ~ 10

 Abbalar Tales ~ 10 Meyam 

By Len Morgan

Skaa grabbed their last ride-able mount and took up the chase at speed, leaving the rest of his men way behind.   "You’re mine boy," he yelled as he dismounted, and headed in pursuit, seeing his mark a quarter of a mile ahead and two hundred feet above him.   He started to climb and almost immediately, felt the fear churning in his guts.   He stopped in surprise, then uttered an angry curse "Where you go, I can follow!"   He continued the climb.  

Aldor glanced back, a grim smile on his face.  

"You're becoming distinctly tiresome boy, I'm going to have to kill you," Skaa yelled into the wind.

"I am not a defenceless woman Skaa, you will have to work hard to accomplish that you overweight windbag," his hand brushed the hilt of his knife somewhat foolishly; it was no match for a sabre.   He climbed over the lip of the plateau, onto an area of level ground, he gazed down at the older man puffing hard but, grim-faced and determined, his eyes still confident and business like.  

Aldor looked around him.   There was a small copse nestled in against the next face to be climbed.   Selecting a substantial sapling he cut and stripped it of branches cutting a five foot length with the heavy knife he'd acquired from the guard.   He returned calmly to confront his shadow, waiting patiently, as he breasted the lip of the small plateau.

"Nice of you to join me for some healthy early morning exercise," he smiled.

"Healthy for me," Skaa replied.   "You've led me a merry dance," he added in a matter of fact voice as he drew his blade.   "We can do this the easy way, you can come with me, or I can take your head back as a trophy.   Either way I still get paid," he looked askance at Aldor.

"I have never done anything the easy way, do not think I am going to start now," he said assuming the en garde stance, stave to the fore.

Skaa chuckled, "I hoped that would be your answer," his voice a whispering menace.   He darted forward with speed and grace that belied his heavy frame.

"By Phaedra's light, you’re ugly!"

Skaa chuckled again and slashed a crisp feint left to right, a swift move, without warning and a lightning change of direction.   Aldor was not surprised, he was ready, he'd learned early in his life to always respect a man with a blade and to expect anything.   He sidestepped neatly striking the flat of the blade with his stave "Ha!"

The older man reversed direction like a bow released under tension, cutting six inches from the stave.   But, could not totally avoid the follow through he received a deep gash, across his ribs, from the now sharpened stave come spear.  

"First blood," Aldor called out displaying his old arrogance.

"You've never fought a man to the death have you boy.   If that were a sabre I might be concerned," he lunged, as Aldor stepped back, slightly overextending.   The stave cracked hard and sharp against his skull.   He just grinned, "Little turd!" he growled, "you can't hurt me with a stick, any more than your little Corvalen whore could with her gutter talon's, she was even better than Eldoriel, squealed like a pig when I took her…"

'Genna!’ he thought, his heart turned to ice.   "Aaaagh!" he yelled like a madman, rushing in to attack an armed man with a green stick.   He aimed a blow at Skaa's head, with all his strength.   The older man, displaying his experience, sidestepped with ease and neatly cut the stave in two.   They were eye to eye, and Aldor saw the triumph in his eyes.   He stabbed out with his remaining stick, pushing it hard into the heavy gut, and backed off rapidly until his back came up against the cliff face; his next climb if he survived.   He darted sideways into the copse where the density of young saplings inhibited the use of a sword.   Skaa was reduced to stabbing ineffectually until in his frustration he swung a heavy speculative cut which succeeded only in severing a dozen or so saplings.   Aldor ever the opportunist grabbed one and quickly stripped off the extraneous branches.   He jabbed with the severed end just as Skaa advanced, catching him squarely in the solar plexus, winding him.   He gasped and retreated, tripping over a severed sapling and sat down heavily just inside the circle of the copse, he continued slashing with the blade to keep Aldor at a distance while he was down.   Aldor grasped a springy sapling with both hands, just above head height, and launched a two-footed attack on Skaa using his own momentum and the spring of the tree to good effect.   The element of surprise worked in his favour, and the strength of the attack brought a grunt from the older man, the sword cluttered from his hand.   Aldor released his grip and landed his full weight on his opponent’s chest.   They both went down awkwardly, and they heard a sharp crack.

"Aah!"  Skaa cried out involuntarily, as he felt a sharp pain in his left leg, as he reached out instinctively to retrieve his blade.   Aldor read the intention and rolled off him reaching the sword first.   A look of anguish came over the old man's face, as he instinctively went for the dagger at his belt.   Even as he did so, a picture came into his mind, of his knife ringing as it struck the rocks on its way down the face of the recent climb, the sheath had hooked up on an outcrop a third of the way up.  

He flashed a disarming grin "You seem to have me at a disadvantage boy, Mayhap you could lend me…  No?"   He smiled again as he attempted to rise "Aaah!" he cried out, in genuine distress, as he felt a sharp stabbing pain in his lower left leg.   "I think my leg is broken," he said.   He reached down gingerly.   A sharp branch, probably cut by his own sword, had penetrated deep into the flesh of his calf, it was protruding an inch through his blood stained hose.   It had lodged between his tibia and fibula and stuck fast.

"You'd better finish me quickly, no sense leaving me for the buzzards…"

"What about your men, they can't be far behind?"

"Use your brains boy, this place has an enchantment on it.   Do you think my mangy band of throat slitters will venture up here, braving the feelings of fear that we faced?"

Aldor nodded and took a pace backwards.

"Help me up boy, I'd like to die on my feet like a man, is that too much to ask?" he held out his hand.

"Why did you kill Eldoriel," he asked, ignoring the proffered hand.

"I didn't, I thought you were the killer, right up to the moment you accused me, but then was not the time for explanations or doubts."

"If it wasn't you then who?"

"My feeling, and that's all it is mind, is Grym-Baal…"

"Her husband Why would he..?"

"He was eaten up with jealousy, even before she met you.   If he couldn’t have her to himself, then nobody else could."

"Then what was all that talk about Genna!   You say you raped and killed her."

"Ah!   That was her name, I never met her, I heard she arrived with you and you were living together, I guessed at an association."   He looked at Aldor's face, he was not convinced.   "Come on boy, you’re not that naïve.   It was just an old soldier’s trick, to rile you, to anger and make you act reckless.   Nearly worked didn't it?"

Aldor nodded, he made a decision and reached out towards Skaa…

'His leg is not broken; the crack was a branch beneath him.’    The words came to his mind unbidden.   He stepped back quickly, just as Skaa lunged forward with one hand swinging a rock in the other.  

Aldor ducked and it flew harmlessly over his shoulder.   He looked down and shook his head with a pained expression on his face.   He stepped on the branch, noting with satisfaction the grimace on the old man's face.   He grabbed Skaa's left boot and wrenched sharply upwards.

"Aaaagh!   Lyandra's teeth!   I didn't know torture was one of your specialities, ooah!" he sucked in hard with the pain, but his leg was free.   "Can't blame me for trying, eh?" he said with that same childish grin on his face.

‘He was telling the truth about the women, he didn't kill either.   Wizomi confirms she is still alive and living in Mandrell,’ said the voice in his head.

‘Who are you?’   He thought.

‘You were sent to find Orden?   I am he.   Climb up, to the next plateau, I will await you there.   He will not follow, his muscles are too badly torn but, he will, however, be able to make his way back down unaided.’

   "If you want your sword, you had better climb down and get it," said Aldor hurling Skaa’s sword over the cliff edge.

"You're going to let me live, after all my ruses?" he answered in surprise.

"If you can survive the climb, but answer me one thing first, did you know there are no ants in the Land of the Dead?"

Skaa’s face creased into a grin, "I thought it was a nice touch.   My men didn't know, Grym-Baal didn't, and you didn't know either, your face told all."

"Mayhap I should climb down with you to see your face at the bottom," said Aldor his grin mirrored Skaa’s.

"Heh Heh, best of luck boy, if they ask me, you got clean away.   None of them would hazard a chase up here anyhow."

"I would consider it a kindness if you would leave my horse at that farm,” he said pointing to a thin plume of smoke in the distance.

 "Consider it done boy," said Skaa offering his hand.   They shook, and then he painfully lowered his torso over the edge.

Aldor watched awhile as he made his way slowly and painfully down the cliff face.   Then he climbed up to the next plateau.   At the top, he looked down again but, Skaa was out of sight.

(To be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

It’s November

 It’s November

by Rosemary Clarke

No we DON'T want mistletoe
Santa's sack or ho, ho ho!
There is one thing to remember
THIS MONTH IS FLIPPIN' NOVEMBER!
We've just finished Guy Fawkes night
Fireworks zooming, what a sight
But the media have a myth
That we want the 25th!
In November, it's all wrong
STOP THE FLAMIN' CHRISTMAS SONGS!
If I hear one more ho, ho ho
I'll strangle them with mistletoe
Put holly in their undershorts
Then see if they are such good sports.
Leave Christmas in its place and then
November has ITs place again.

Copyright  Rosemary Clarke