The Wolf Within

By Janet Baldey

Teresa stood staring out of the kitchen window at the dog.  It lay on the grass, its nose resting on its paws as the death throes of the setting sun flooded the lawn with crimson and set fire to its fur. 

‘If only’, unbidden, the bitter thought flashed into her mind.  Immediately, she felt guilty.  It was wrong to be jealous of an innocent animal. But Teresa couldn’t rid herself of the idea that the dog was anything but innocent. She could have sworn there were times when she’d caught it regarding her with a calculating expression. On those occasions, the look in its soft brown eyes was quite different from when it gazed at her husband.  

She jumped, startled by the brassy ring of the doorbell. She shot a glance at the clock; Charlie must have forgotten his keys again.

`       As she walked down the hallway she could hear the clicking of the dog’s claws as it skidded along the parquet flooring.  As usual, it beat her to the door, skilfully insinuating its body in front of her just before it opened.  Its tail waving like a flag, it reared and rested its paws on Charlie’s chest, almost knocking him over.   A grin smeared itself over his face.

‘That’s my girl’,

Gently replacing the dog’s front legs on the floor, Charlie bent to its level and ruffled its ears.

‘That’s a lovely welcome, Have you missed me?’

He rose and aimed a kiss somewhere in the direction of Teresa’s cheek.

‘Hi love. What are we eating tonight?’

The muscles of her face tightened.  He thinks more of that dog than he does of me, she thought.  As the dog trotted off behind its master, it shot her a sly glance.

         All through supper, it sat by Charlie’s chair ogling him with chocolate brown devotion.  At last, Charlie put down his fork, rose and pushed back his chair.   Looking down, he uttered the magic word.

         ‘Walkies.’

         Teresa watched them as they walked down the path and out onto the lane, the dog circling its tail and weaving figures of eight around Charlie’s legs. She bit her lip.   Not once, ever since they’d been married two years ago, had Charlie ever suggested that she should join them on their evening walks. Just as he never suggested that she sit next to him on the sofa as they watched TV.  That place was reserved for the dog.   Charlie would sit gawking at the screen, one arm thrown over the animal, his fingers thrust deep into its fur, while the dog lay inert, a look of glazed ecstasy in its half-open eyes.

That night, Teresa awoke from out the fog of an uneasy dream and lay, its shreds disintegrating around her.  Behind the sound of Charlie’s regular breathing, she could hear the creak of the garden gate keeping time with the wail of the wind.  She realised that was what had woken her. Charlie must have forgotten to close it and now she’d get no sleep. With an irritated sigh, she dragged her body from underneath the duvet.   As she padded round the end of the bed towards the door, she had a vague sense that something was wrong but her mind felt muzzy and she couldn’t think properly. Then, it came to her.  She always slept nearest the door, so why was she walking around the bed from the other side. That was where the dog slept.

‘It’s a wonder I didn’t step on the damned thing,’ she thought.

 

A sudden noise shocked her into stillness.   She craned forward and listened.   There was the whisper of voices and the sound of stealthy movements.  A frozen hand gripped her bowels and squeezed.  There were strangers in the house.  Instinctively, she dropped onto all fours.  She tried to cry out but her throat seemed clogged.  Desperately, she tried to clear it.  

‘Go away’.  The words came out as a rasping growl.

She crouched, her body hugging the carpet.  Then, she heard the slam of a car’s door and the voices receded.  With a feeling of relief so complete she almost swooned, she realised the sounds had been coming from the house adjacent.

She took a deep breath and tried to get up but her limbs seemed anchored to the floor. Looking down, at first she was merely surprised to notice that her arms were covered in long, red hair.  Then, horror followed surprise as she realised it wasn’t just her arms, her whole body was covered with a glossy, chestnut pelt.  A rolling wave of panic washed over her

‘Help me’ she cried. It came out as a low whine.

 Her head felt heavy as she swung it towards the bed. She blinked, her feeling of disorientation deepening.  There were two figures lying there, cuddled intimately together. Despite her plight, she realised that she and Charlie had not slept like that for a long time.

‘But, it’s mine’ she thought helplessly. ‘That’s my body in the bed’.

The smaller figure’s eyes snapped open and Teresa knew the full meaning of terror for the first time. The eyes, staring triumphantly at her, were brown. Hers were blue.

‘No’ she screamed.  It came out as a howl.

‘Shaddup girl,’ Charlie said, and turned over in bed.

 

All night, Teresa tried to tell Charlie something was wrong but her words came out as yips and yelps and in the end he got annoyed and dragged her out of the room by the scruff of her neck.

‘If you can’t behave yourself, you must sleep in your basket.’  He closed the door in her face.

The next week was a nightmare.  Charlie wouldn’t listen to her and not being able to face the endless bowls of Chappie, Teresa grew weak and emaciated.  Her fur started falling out.  She couldn’t sleep and had no energy. She simply lay in her basket as hope faded from her life.

In spite of her misery, she couldn’t help noticing what was going on. One of the  first things the dog,  - or ‘Terri’ as Charlie now called her - had done, was to throw out all Teresa’s clothes.  She bought a completely new wardrobe, miniskirts mostly and tops with plunging necklines. Teresa had to admit she looked well in them. They showed off her curves and long, slim legs. It had to be admitted, her figure was better than Teresa’s, obviously due to all the long walks she had been taken on. Charlie was now walking around with a foolish little smile playing around his mouth and he no longer stayed up late watching television.

Then, one day she heard something that made her prick up her ears.

‘There’s something wrong with that dog.’ Terri said.  Charlie looked worried; he came over and started stroking her.   Teresa desperately wanted to tell him something was very wrong but she knew she’d only start whining again, so she didn’t make a sound. She simply gazed at him imploringly,willing him to notice the change of eye colour, but Charlie had never been the observant sort.

‘It doesn’t look happy does it?’  Her rival said.

Teresa felt her lip begin to curl and Charlie got up so quickly he almost fell.

‘We’ll wait and see how she goes.’  He said.

A few days later, just before Charlie got home, Terri poured pools of water all over the kitchen floor. Puzzled, Teresa peered at her from over the top of her basket.

As soon as Charlie was inside the front door, she heard Terri talking to him in the hall and a terrible realisation dawned.

The kitchen door opened and Terri gestured dramatically.  

‘Look’ she said. ‘It’s pee’d all over the floor. I think the poor thing’s senile.   It is quite old, isn’t it?’

Charlie looked miserable and Terri slipped an arm around his waist and pressed her body against his. 

‘I know…’ she muttered huskily. ‘You’ve had it a long time but don’t worry, I’ll do what’s necessary and it won’t suffer.’  She offered up her face for a kiss.   ‘Now, shall we just pop upstairs for a shower?’  She raised herself on tiptoe and licked his ear with her long, red tongue.

The next day Teresa was awakened by the clinking of a chain. She opened her eyes and saw Terri bending over her.  All her poise and superficial glamour had disappeared, her teeth were bared, her incisors dripped saliva and her eyes gleamed.  Terrified, Teresa saw the wolf within.  

‘Come on you brute,’ she snarled.  ‘ You’re off to the vet. I’m taking you for your last walk.’

The chain looped around her neck, Teresa’s paws skittered helplessly as she was dragged towards the door.

‘Noooo’ she howled, raising her muzzle to the ceiling.   ‘Noooo, you can’t.  Its murder!

                                                                      Copyright Janet Baldey 

Abbalar Tales ~ 13

Abbalar Tales ~ 13 Jellonan

By Len Morgan

"Follow me sprout, let me show you to your quarters."  

Aldor followed him, aware of a faint fluorescence from the vaulted ceiling of the cave high above.   After further scrutiny, it appeared to be covered with large flat plates of a pale opal glass-like material.  As they approached it glowed with a blue-white light.   As they passed beneath its glow increased, to rival the sun, then as they progressed beyond its influence each plate reverted to its former state.  They were now moving towards a red glow, as they drew nearer Aldor experienced the intense heat emanating from its source, the intensity increased until he was unable to proceed further.

“Here, you will need this,” said Orden handing him a suit of stiff white material, matching gloves, and a helm that completely engulfed his head.   The eye slits were glazed with a dark brown smoky crystal.   “I had forgotten how fragile your human forms are.  We are tapping magma, from the molten core of Abbalar.”

Everything was clean and uncluttered, meticulously tidy, and completely free of dust.

 

Orden continued as if reading his mind. “Any possibility of contamination has been removed.   Even one extraneous dust mote might be enough to convert a valuable and complicated compound into useless waste.   Nothing must be left to chance, in chemistry and metallurgy, if we are to obtained consistent results.   But, they are my speciality, not yours.”

 

In his mind, Aldor mentally contrasted the inside of the cave with its arboreal exterior.   The overgrown mountain slopes were covered with strange unfamiliar plants, growing wild but in profusion, beside more familiar plants, trees, and shrubs.  

"Humans have always avoided this place.   It is reputed to be haunted and inhabited by a dark demon sorcerer.   Nobody would dare enter the Enchanters Wood uninvited, yet here in this cave is a level of technology men could not hope to achieve, unaided, within the next millennium."  

“Yet, you have no towns, no fields for crops, and no apparent commerce with anyone beyond these mountains?”

“This mountain existed long before life began on Abbalar.   It was and still is an active volcano.   We channel its forces, its destructive energies, for our own ends.   There are natural pipes, shafts, and channels, leading from the molten source to the hearth of our forge as you will observe during your stay.

“We live below, follow me.  A private space has been provided for you within.  Somewhere you can be alone and at peace with yourself.”

Aldor followed him through winding twisting tunnels cut into the solid rock.   Without his guide, he knew he would very soon have been lost.   Eventually, they came to a staircase leading down.   One floor down, Orden indicated a number depicting the floor they were on, the symbols were unfamiliar, but at 17th level, they entered a corridor with opposing doors at regular intervals.   “You will be in room 53, eighth on the right,” said Orden presenting him with a bronze key.

“Thank you,” said Aldor viewing the symbols on the eighth door.   "Fifty three," he said under his breath.

"The language is galactic standard, you will need to learn it in order to take full advantage of your stay here."

The key turned smoothly and silently in the lock.   He identified a faint smell of orange Blossom as he opened the door.   The room was dimly lit but as he entered the intensity of light gradually increased.   He deposited his belongings, including the heat resistant suit, inside and looked around.   The walls were of a smooth hard white material that felt warm to the touch.   There were several simple unadorned chairs and a cot bed, covered in white linen sheets.   There was a second door, but suddenly he felt heavy-legged and too tired to explore.   Instead, he simply undressed and reclined on the bed.  He felt exhausted.   As his head touched the pillow, his eyes closed and he slept. 

.-…-. 

He awoke to the familiar and seductive aroma of food.   Bacon, eggs, new bread, and sausage, he smiled, another dream he thought.   He opened his eyes, in darkness.   But, the action of sitting up was enough to activate the ceiling panels, he found himself bathed in cool diffused blue light.   He could hear activity, on the other side of the door, he'd had not yet explored.   He went through and there was Orden with a welcoming grin on his face.  

"Sit down and break your fast sprout," he said, pulling a seat out for him at the table and placing a plate before him piled high with food, “It's about time you woke up, eat heartily it’s going to be a long day.”

He needed no second askance, he tucked in.   The food was as good as its aroma implied.   Having eaten his fill, he returned to his sleeping quarters and found his pack resting against the external wall. 

“There’s an assortment of linen and clothing in the wall compartments” Orden explained, pushing a small blue dot on the wall.   A panel opened revealing a wide choice of clean casual clothing within. 

.-…-. 

The days sped by, a constant round of exciting new discoveries and ideas.   Each filled with new concepts, challenges and revelations.   Nothing was for free, he had to tease, coax, and guess before Orden would divulge anything.   He soon learned that he needed to be dogged, determined, single-minded, and above all to take nothing for granted.   Days became weeks, of constant learning, of mystique and magic giving power to ideas and creations.   His hours were filled with theory, research, and practical experience.   But, in all that time he never once met another living creature.   Orden was vitally alive and responsive, full of energy and enthusiasm.  He kept Aldor occupied from the rising to the setting of the sun.   He collected him from his quarters each morning, and returned him there in the evening, too tired to do anything but sleep.   At mid-day, they would stop briefly to eat lunch, belch and drink ale, before returning to the soul-cleansing roles of student and teacher.   It was in many ways an idyllic situation except he was ever conscious that time was passing, and he had an overwhelming desire to return to Genna as quickly as possible.   Here he felt strangely unsatisfied, he wanted something more, he felt there was something lacking in his existence.

Late one afternoon, Orden had gone to his forge to work on a personal project, Aldor knew better than to question him on such matters Orden would divulge nothing until the appointed time.   So, in Ordens absence, Aldor was expected to continue working on his current projects.   Instead, he went to the stairs.   Descending to his own level (17), then continued on down into the bowels of the earth.   Every ten levels, he explored, but found only the same white corridors and locked doors.   He tried opening these with his own key but, without success.   Beyond the hundredth level, the atmosphere became distinctly hot and stuffy.   A further ten floors down it became foul, and he found it difficult to breathe, he considered turning back but decided instead to check some of these deeper corridors.   They looked equally white pristine and virginal, just like all the others above, but he decided on impulse to try his key in each of the door locks anyway; as before none would open.   Then inspired, he went to the eighth door on the right, the one corresponding with his own, ninety-odd floors above, to his surprise and delight the key turned.  He opened the door gingerly and was immediately assailed by a sickly scent of decaying vegetation.   He screwed his face up, nausea churning in the pit of his stomach.   On impulse he wedged the door open before entering, trying hard to retain his stomach contents.   The room was humid, much hotter than he had ever previously experienced and shrouded in mist, Lit only by a dim red glow from above.   As he moved into the room he stumbled over something warm soft and yielding.   He heard a snort and a heavy blow knocked him from his feet.   The air was clammy and heavy with moisture, breathing was difficult in that heavy vapour filled atmosphere.   He backed slowly towards the door, he had no idea what was in here, he realised his life could be in danger.   As he reached the door, a high pitched bellow, unlike anything he had heard before shook both the air and the floor, deafening him momentarily.   He turned the handle, his mind filled with primordial terror, which he was only able to control after slamming the door firmly shut behind him.   For some time he stood, breathless and trembling, his clothes soaked through; his shirt front covered in green slime, smelling of partially digested vegetation.   For some time the occupant of the room vented its fury against the walls of its quarters, bellowing and pounding on the door.   The noise subsided eventually, and surprisingly there were no answering calls from the adjoining rooms.   He retraced his steps to the stairs and made his way painfully back to his own quarters.   He changed his clothing and cleaned up before returning to the surface.   Where he found Orden was still busy at the forge and seemed unaware of his exploratory trip.

.-...-.

Next morning, he awoke to the aroma of cooking as before and went through to the kitchen and sat at the table.  

Orden set a plate before him, "You have questions to ask me," he said without preamble.

"How many levels are there below us?"

"500" he answered at once.

"I travelled down more than a hundred yesterday.   What was that thing," he asked.

"It seems time for me to tell you my story," said Orden after a long pause.   He laughed nervously, "you’re the storyteller so you will let me know if my delivery is off?"

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

 Baddow hall fruit farm

Robert Kingston 

Very few knew what lie behind

this hill land farm where wheels would whine

Where horses roamed through day through night

as travellers weary would alight...

lanterns born burning bright

would tease the fish across a span of water, silty, drifting right.
.

And at daybreak, waking bleary eyed

Wolds of green and whittled gold

A new spring rain, an early sun

So bold it burned the songs

that nestled in the shades of plum...

lined orchards slowly flaking

back to whence life began.

 

Copyright Robert Kingston

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