Tylywoch ~ 07

Tylywoch ~ 07 Coming of Age II

By Len Morgan

Times passing brings changes for all, both physical and mental, for good and for ill.

Aldor had been assassinated, whilst leaving the Eternal city it was a routine mission on behalf of the empire he loved and held so dear.   Meillo bore his loss stoically but shrank to a shadow of her former self.   Weilla visited as often as she was able when training permitted, but not often enough.   Each visit produced evidence of continued and inevitable decline in Meillo’s health.

Galyx called Weilla one morning, to inform her that Meillo had returned to the wheel of life and no longer breathed the mountain air of Abbalar.   

It was a simple traditional Burial.   The day was grey. There was continual drizzle but just as they approached the graveside the rain ceased and the sun came out.   By the time they had covered her remains, the sun was gone again, and the drizzle resumed.   She looked down at the newly turned earth, the ‘Natural Disasters’ flanked her protectively yet still she felt alone.

Galyx seemed to read her thoughts, he tapped her forehead.   “She is here.   You can talk with her whenever you wish, just close your eyes and call her name; she will come to you.   She will be as you remember her best, as you would choose to remember her, healthy, and in her prime, and in your mind, she will never age.”   He walked away, followed by her friends, she stood alone her eyes closed, a smile on her face.   Her lips moved silently but no sound came forth.

Time passed, Weilla worked hard and learned well, but her General classification was not revoked.   Galyx had once been responsible for teaching them all skills, he now relinquished that role, becoming more a friend, confidante, and mentor to them.  They all now had specialists teaching them, masters in their chosen discipline, men and women pre-eminent in their fields.  Weilla missed the grind of constant repetition and practice sessions, being now only required to learn new techniques and innovations.   She was not the best in any of her classes, but neither was she the worst in any.   Since the others were learning one discipline only, this earned her kudos amongst her peers.   From being the butt of jokes, she soon became respected, even by the training masters; who were notoriously impossible to please. 

At the time of testing, it became apparent what a Generalist was expected to accomplish.   Each quad, in turn, was sent to fulfill a task, which could only be completed with the full cooperation and involvement of all its members.   The three quads tried in turn and failed to accomplish the task.   Weilla was expected to attempt it alone.   She arrived at the test area, and the chief invigilator explained what had to be done. 

“You must reach the center of the village, with every hand set against you, and retrieve a purse of gold from the top of a twenty foot pole, set upright in the ground.   You must remove the prize from the top of the pole with your own hand, you cannot simply knock it off.   I will fire an arrow into the air; you will not be touched, hampered, or hindered in any way until it touches the ground.   The task is not impossible, but only two have so far reached the centre of the village, none have yet claimed the prize.   I will loose the arrow at your command, and you have thirty minutes to complete the task.” 

“Loose!” she called immediately.   Then, instead of running for the centre of the village, covering as much ground as possible before the arrow struck the earth, she elected to follow the path of the arrow.   She had obviously taken full control of her body because she covered the ground with incredible speed.   As the arrow reached its zenith and started its descent, she was waiting below with a hollow log in her hands.   She caught the arrow with the wood, holding it high as she strolled into the village square, not a hand was lifted against her.   She reached the pole and saw immediately it had been greased along its entire length and was not climbable.   It was however a new addition to the centre of the village, which prompted further investigation.   She removed the soil stones and rocks from its base, to reveal that it was fastened to a metal plate fixed firmly to the ground.   One side was hinged; the other was fixed with a large hasp and padlock.   She removed a strip of metal wire from her belt and used it to pick the lock as Soren had taught her.   When the padlock was removed, the pole fell to earth with a heavy thump, and she was able to retrieve the purse from its button.   She handed the prize to Galyx her mentor and stabbed the arrow into the ground before the examiner’s, to rapturous applause from her friends.   All cheered wildly with delight.  They had all at some time tried and failed to accomplish the task.   Few had even guessed at its solution. 

“What were your thought processes?” asked the invigilator.

“To stop the arrow striking the ground, then to retrieve the purse.” She replied without hesitation. 

He shook his head and smiled “Simple, clear tasking, executed in the blink of an eye" he said.   “Most uncommon sense well done!   But, you’ve left us with a real headache, we now have to create a new task for future students," there was general laughter at this.   "Congratulations to you all!   We are very pleased to welcome you as fully fledged Tylywoch agents” he called aloud, to which the students cheered enthusiastically as the gathering came to a close. 

.-…-. 

There were celebrations that evening.  Weilla was introduced to rice wine for the first time in her life with predictable results.  Her expectations did not match up to the reality, and she arrived at morning muster, much the worse for wear and totally unprepared for what was to follow:

   She was given another potion to drink, and her task was explained to her.   She would be sent into the Sabre Tooth Mountains to climb Metti Takka, the highest peak in the range.   At its summit stands a tall thin spur of rock known as the needle.  

“You will climb the needle, travel through its eye, and retrieve a package from within.   You will then seek out a 200-year-old mystic who dwells nearby.   You will present him with the package.   He will then return you to us, but, you must bring back a part of him with you.” 

The potion made her drowsy, causing her to sit down and close her eyes momentarily to steady her head before starting her journey. 

.-…-.

By sundown, she had completed half the journey to Metti Takka.   She lit a small fire with the meagre kindling she had gathered on her journey and prepared to cook a lean mountain hare she’d caught earlier in the day.   As the meat roasted on the spit, she poured boiling water onto a few of the green tea leaves from her utility pouch.   She inhaled slowly savouring its piquant aroma, then drank deeply, allowing the hot astringent liquid to warm her from within.

“Is there sufficient for two?” a mild voice enquired from close by. 

She continued her cooking without looking up, so as not to appear surprised, and answered “Yes.   If you come in peace…”

“And if I do not?”

She turned to face the voice, “In that case, we fight, and to the victor the spoils.” She spoke unhurriedly but with confidence in a quiet measured voice that informed her visitor, she was not bluffing.

“I come in peace.” The visitor assured her, and stepped from the shadows into the illumination of the flickering fire glow.

“Do I know you?” she asked sensing a familiarity about the presence.  

“Do you?” answered the young boy.

She squinted and looked straight at him through the flames “Jax, is that you?” she said in surprise.

“Do you want it to be?” he answered with a smile, then suddenly the figure wasn't Jax anymore.

“Weilla, I feel so alone, so empty without Aldor” said Meillo’s shade; she would never have revealed her feelings in such a brazen manner.

“Use your brain, not your senses, this is a wraith” said Aldor's voice in her mind.

Suddenly her mind cleared.   She looked deep into the emerald green eyes, watching the interplay of yellow sparks on the orbs of the wraith; as it closed rapidly with her.   She unsheathed her blade and slashed through its body in one swift movement.   Quick as she was, the apparently solid form shimmered like the fire.  

“I’m still here it said solidifying briefly, shimmering into and out of the veiled world.

“Reveal your true self, I will not commune with a ghost!” she said firmly.

“You may not like what you see.”

“Beauty hides a surfeit of ills!   Reveal yourself or be gone.”   The wraith wavered again, becoming fuzzy then solidified as a thin waif-like girl with a face scarred and deformed, she tentatively approached.

“ If you lead me to your remains I will bury them so your soul will be at peace.”  Weilla offered with compassion.

“Thank you,” said the now tearful spirit.   “Finish your repast first.   I have waited a score or more years, a few more minutes will not matter overly much, You are the first solid I have spoken with since falling.”

Weilla finished her meal and followed the wraith to a boulder strewn area at the foot of a crumbling cliff face.   “How came you to inhabit this wild and desolate place?”  

The spirit stopped and pointed to a pathetic heap of cloth rags and bones.  “I was sent to climb the needle but fell from this face.   If you climb further, beware the white rocks.”

Weilla gathered up the exposed bones and moved them away from the cliff.   She dug a shallow grave in the soft earth and interred the remains reverently adding a short prayer to the gods.  She patted the mound firmly so the soil would remain in place.   “Before you go, reveal to me your likeness.” She said. 

The wraith's face changed, even as she began to fade for the last time.   The countenance that Weilla gazed briefly upon was her own.   Then she was alone once more.   She had thought to climb this face, but now took against it.   She smiled in gratitude and gazed down once more at the mound.   There was no mound, only unturned virgin grassland. 

The storm wailed incessantly like the cry of a  banshee seeking her lost offspring.   The bite of a sub-zero wind felt like the mortal wound from a snow troll.   But was as nothing, to the snow blasting effected by minute grains of razor sharp ice crystals impacting every exposed skin surface at between fifty and sixty miles an hour.   Small red scratches covered her face, the blood turning to ice on contact with the air.   Weilla clung doggedly to the needle, one hundred and twenty feet above the ground.   Hanging by broken fingernails lodged in cracks no wider than craquelure she clung to a 110-degree overhang reaching out desperately for the next handhold.

“Got it!”  she yelled triumphantly.    Hauling her tired body over the lip, to hang there suspended for what seemed like minutes, giving respite to a body pushed far beyond its capacity to endure.   In reality, she took only seconds before moving on.  To give up was not an option.   She pulled herself into a shallow crevice, that afforded some respite from the storm, as she eased her body in close to the face, she realised there was an opening just above, it seemed at first to be just a darker surface, she climbed in. 

“It never stops…” 

Weilla peered deep into the gloom, unable to adjust her fuzzy vision to the total darkness, or fully defrost the frozen surfaces of her retina.   She reached out with her sixth sense, but could identify only her own aura.   Had she heard a voice?

“I’ve been here a week, waiting for the storm to abate, so I can find my way down.   Do you have any food to spare?   I haven’t eaten in four days.” 

Weilla felt in her belt pouches, they were now only half full.   She lit a tallow, and looked around their refuge.   Opposite the opening, there was only loose shale and rock rubble.   “Here” she said placing a handful of seeds nuts and dried fruit into the grubby outstretched hand.   She looked at her own, they were indistinguishable, as was their apparel.

“There’s nothing above…”

“Is this then the eye of the needle?”  Her companion nodded.

“Do you have the package then?” she asked.

“There is no package,” the girl laughed mirthlessly.  “Don’t waste your candle.”

“If this is the eye of the needle, the crevice should pass all the way through,” she pinched the candle flame out, and returning it to its pouch.  She moved closer to the scree face, and began to dig with her hands, “Help me move this she called out to her companion.   Removing her knife from its sheath, she used it to prise larger chinks between the rocks.   They worked at it together without the need for further discourse, then a sudden slip of the rock face revealed dim light on the far side, and the storm entered the still gloomy interior.

“It’s no use, there is no way through.   A large boulder is blocking the way, it’s too large to roll past us or for us to squeeze by it,”  her companions despair evident.

“If we can’t pull it inwards, we must push it outwards.   Push on three,” she commanded “1..2..3….Push…”   Slowly it began to move.   “Again” she yelled.   They strained sinew and fibre, and nearly fell to their deaths below, when suddenly it was gone.   They were hit now by the full force of the storm, and were almost sucked from the eye like cork from a bottle.   Taking another quick look around and finding nothing, she made a decision.   “Come on, we can get down this side. It’s a steep slope but there’s no overhang” she shouted into the fury of the storm.   They left their refuge and went out into the full force of the elements. “DOWN!” she yelled 

.-…-. 

A hooded figure in white robes met them at the foot of the needle.   He walked away from them and gestured for them to follow.   They walked without speaking for some considerable distance in silence because of the continual howl of the storm. It appeared they were heading for a lean-to structure of rustic timbers, utilising the rock outcrop as its rear wall.

Weilla could not recall entering it, but enter she did.  The figure removed his hood and cape, revealing his near white linen undergarments.  His face was finely lined tanned and weather beaten.  The log fire was banked high filling the deceptively large space with unaccustomed warmth.   His thick white hair looked like virgin snow, taking on a coppery sheen in the reflected light of the fire.   Weilla gazed into his intelligent green eyes.  “You are the one I am seeking.” It was a statement, not a question.

He smiled in reply, a warm all enveloping fatherly act.  “You’re as beautiful as your mother.” He said.

Somehow she knew he was not referring to Meillo.   She became conscious of her companion, now dressed similarly, and standing beside him.  Their arms interlaced in an uncommon show of intimacy, they embraced, and moved closer to include Weilla.   She join them, it seemed the right thing to do.   Then she embraced them and bathed in their all encompassing presence, she was happy, and for the first time in her life she found herself crying.   Her mind was awash with foreign feelings, and unaccountable emotions yet it all appeared quite natural.   She clung to her parents fondly, lest they disappear.   She felt their warmth, their protectiveness and their pride in the person she had become without their guidance.  Most of all, she felt their staunch and uncompromising love. 

After a while, she slept…

.-…-.

Weillia opened her eyes and gazed at Galyx’s concerned face.

“You’ve been in the trance state for almost a day.   The others all returned within hours.   I have been charged to bring you to the counsel chamber now that you are awake.   We are all eager to discover the outcome of your journey.”  He helped her to her feet and led her into the adjoining chamber.  The counsel chamber was a large circular building standing alone in the centre of the village.  Six ancient counsellors sat on cushions, facing into the centre of the area where she now stood alone.   The supreme counsellor spoke on behalf of them all.

“You were sent to retrieve a package, to confront a sage, and to bring something back with you to this counsel.   Did you succeed?” 

She stood in silence for a few moments then she smiled, and answered “Yes.”

“Would you please reveal to us what transpired?”

She told her story simply without frills.   They conferred for a long time in low unhurried tones.   When they again took their positions the supreme counsellor requested that she retire to the guest chamber to bathe eat and relax.   They would speak with her in the morning after they had deliberated further.

She cast a look of concern towards Galyx, as they withdrew.   “Did I say or do something wrong?” she asked.  

He smiled at her but didn’t reply.

 

(To be Continued)

                                                                                                                m By Len Morgan 

UNDERPANTS

 UNDERPANTS ~ (From Next)

By Peter Woodgate

Another pack of underpants

Oh, whatever Next

There’s eight in all and nicely packed

But I am quite perplexed.

For shown, on each, are animals

Clear against the colours bright,

I guess that I must act each one

Be it day or night.

So, should you hear me roaring?

Don’t get too alarmed,

It’s just the lion on my pants

So you will not be harmed.

And should you notice my long neck,

There is no need to laugh

Or no need to wind it in

It’s just the tall giraffe.

Should I be monkeying around

Or swinging on a tree,

I haven’t lost my marbles

It’s just the ape in me.

Some days I may show signs of spots

My face it will be peppered

Not to worry, they’ll soon go

It’s just the stealthy leopard.

Perhaps I’ll be a magician

And quote Abra Cadabra

You may see stripes before your eyes

Relax it’s just the zebra.

Of course some days I’ll blow my horn

And act as if I’m cross,

My pants will feel uncomfortable

It’s that moody rhinocerous.

At times though, I will be so cute

Like a fluffy, cuddly, cat,

I’ll run on four but stand on two

Can you guess? Yes, a meercat.

No doubt, someday, another pack

But please not a shark with fin,

I’ll  dream that he is eating me

Because I cannot swim.

Copyright Peter Woodgate

 

 

 TAKING THE PLUNGE  (Part 1 of 2)                                             

by Richard Banks                   
            

Danny lost the will to live on the 07.21 train to Liverpool Street station. This was not the fault of the train or the company responsible for its operation. Indeed the train was almost on time and doing a passable imitation of an intercity express. Nor was it the fault of the mobile phone which texted him the information that he had been sacked. The cause of his unhappiness was clearly Global, or to be precise, The Global Equity Investment Corporation who despite making an annual profit of one point three billion dollars had embarked on a round of staff cuts. That these cuts were described as efficiency savings was no consolation to Danny who was told to report to reception and that under no circumstances was he to seek admittance to his office on the thirty-third floor.

         He wondered how much redundancy money he would receive and long it would pay the mortgage on the Docklands apartment he had bought for himself and his fiancée, Tanya. She would not be pleased to hear the news of his dismissal. As the daughter of a Russian oligarch she was used to having money and spending it with a liberality that was especially pleasing to the high fashion couturiers of Regent Street. So far the money she had been spending was Danny's but once certain administrative difficulties had been resolved concerning the transfer of her father's allowance her income would be several times larger than that of her intended husband. Indeed she was hopeful that on their marriage her father, being a particularly affectionate and indulgent parent, would double, or maybe treble what she had previously received. After all she was her father's only child and it made no sense for him to be less than generous when on his demise she would inherit the entirety of his vast estate.

         Danny reflected on his good fortune on finding a wife whose voluptuous good looks were even more important to him than her undoubted wealth. Nevertheless it was comforting to know that another source of income would shortly be available to make good the substantial expenditure of recent months. He decided to text Tanya with the news of his dismissal and on doing so received the message: 'Very funny, ha ha', followed, almost immediately, by another, reading: 'You are joking aren't you?' He replied to the effect that he was not joking and that this was the most unfunny thing ever to happen to him. He had a mortgage and wedding to pay for, mega debts on credit cards and less than two grand in the bank. Would she contact her father and get him to send some of the money he had been promising.

         The rapid interchange of texts paused and Danny witnessed the coming and going of several stations. He imagined Tanya emailing or phoning her father and making the necessary arrangements that would save him from bankruptcy. Her reply came as the train was pulling into Liverpool Street; for a moment he thought it had hit the buffers. In less than one hundred words and the capital T that ended her text, Tanya exploded what was left of Danny's life. How, she asked, had he allowed such a 'ghastly thing' to happen. Had she known he was nothing more than a financial chancer she would never have consented to be his wife. Their engagement was over. She would, if he insisted, return the ring but as the apartment was registered in their joint names she would expect half of whatever it was sold for. Her solicitor was Grimdyke & Downward to whom all future communications should be sent.

         At first he could not believe what he was reading but the words on the screen showed no sign of changing. Tanya was no more a part of his life than his fellow commuters who had deserted the train for their desks in the City. With the uncertain instinct of a dazed lemming he followed the last stragglers through the ticket barriers. From there it was only a short walk to his office in the high rise building known as the Beanstalk. On entry his identity card was scanned and cancelled by a security guard who ensured that he join a queue of discarded humanity shuffling towards a help desk. Large envelopes were being handed out and the recipients escorted through the nearest exit by black suited bouncers normally found in local clubs. The news was filtering back along the queue that the company was offering severance pay of one week's salary for every year worked. 

         Danny calculated what would be coming to him and found it to be no more than a splash in the ocean of debt he was surely going to drown in. The hopelessness of his situation overwhelmed him, his body shivering with cold on a summer's day. He was a winner, a go-getter. This shouldn't be happening to him, but it was. Somehow he had lost everything that mattered. His confusion turned to anger, anger at the company, anger at Tanya, anger at the world and everyone in it. How dare they do this to him. His life was over, not worth living. Well, so be it. If he was no better than a dead man his death would be his revenge. He was a lion; he would go out with a roar.

         His plan was a simple one. First of all he had to run as fast as he had ever run. There were forty, maybe fifty yards between him and the executive lift that provided the Company elite with an uninterrupted journey to their offices at the top of the building on the forty-third floor. The doors to the lift were open. If they were still open when he reached them he could ascend rapidly to the forty-third floor and from there onto the roof where he would end his life. His descent would take only seconds. After that his pain would be over. The bad publicity for Global would be their pain, one they would have to live with. As for Tanya – no he dare not think of her.

         Breaking ranks he ran towards the staff lifts. The regulars on security would be expecting that. It had happened before, former staff returning to their offices to download client details. The  guards by the lifts were reinforced by other guards who abandoned their allocated positions to form a defensive shield. They braced themselves for Danny's charge. Instead he swerved away from them and raced full tilt towards the executive lift. On reaching it he pressed the up button and watched the doors close in the face of the one guard able to run as fast as himself. He wondered if there would also be guards on the forty-third floor but, when the doors opened, the corridor outside was empty. He hurried along it and up the two flights of steps that led to the roof. All that was left was for him to hurdle the low balustrade wall on the front elevation of the building and let gravity do the rest.

There was no place in Danny's plan for Sid but as he ran towards the edge of the building he realised he was heading towards Global's longest serving maintenance worker who was sitting astride the wall. He cantered to a halt and not knowing what to say announced his presence with a cough. The trance like gaze of the maintenance man shifted from the urban landscape beneath him onto Danny. On finding the suited figure of a middle ranking trader he adopted an expression appropriate to the continuance of the class struggle.

         “Oh, it's you,” he said recognising Danny as an occasional drinking partner at The Magpie. “What do you want?”

         “Sorry Sid. Didn't mean to disturb you but you're in my line of fire so to speak. Would you mind moving over a bit?”

         Sid replied that if Danny was also intending to throw himself off the top he had three other sides on which to do so. This was his side. He had got here first and would not be leaving it until he was good and ready.

         Danny considered the other elevations and found them unsuited to his purpose. Beneath them were only narrow streets. Few would see him go down there. No, if he was to do this thing properly it had to be off the front of the building into the windswept piazza known as Global Square. At its centre was a statue of Global's founder, O J Stilkenburg. With any luck he would hit the ground in front of it. The significance of his action would be clear to everyone. The stain he made would be scrubbed clean but never forgotten. But if this was to happen it was necessary to jump from the spot now occupied by Sid.

         Danny glanced impatiently at his watch. Security would be on their way up. He could feel them coming. If he was going to jump it had to be now. In an attempt to expedite matters to their mutual satisfaction he approached Sid and sat down beside him. He addressed him in the brisk no-nonsense way he closed stock market trades.

         “Look here mate we ain't got much time. Give me your arm. We'll go over together. You and me, together. Are you ready? Yeah? On the count of three.  One..two..”

         Sid responded by wrenching his arm from the loop Danny had made. To make his intentions    even clearer he stepped away from the wall towards the storeroom that occupied the centre of the roof.

         “What's the matter, mate?” Danny's voice expressed surprise then anger. “Lost your nerve?”

         “So if I have. That's my business not yours. You do what you want, I'm off to the boozer. I've got a cheque to spend.”

         “That won't last you long. Then what?” Danny answered his own question. “The dole. That's what you got coming. You'll never find another job, not at your age.”

         Sid tried to snap back but the only words he had were of loss and humiliation. He would keep those to himself, his emotions he could not. He had been in the Company's employ for thirty seven years, risen to the grade of Senior Maintenance Officer with authority over others. His job told him who he was, what he was, separated him from those who had no work and no prospect of work, people he despised. Now he was no better than them. He should be angry, defiant, instead he was crying. For the first time since primary school he was crying.

         Danny had no tears but was troubled by those he had helped bring about. His last moments should surely be better than this.

         “Sorry mate, I was out of order, way wrong. Here's a tenner. Have a drink on me. In fact have the whole damn wallet. Just do me a favour, will you?”

         “What's that?”

“Watch me go will you. Say a prayer while I'm falling. Can you do that, mate?”

 

Copyright Richard Banks     

HELP

 HELP (now's the chance to)

By Rosemary Clarke 

Tear up the Visas!

LET THEM COME!

It's not HOLIDAY

It's the BARREL OF A GUN!

These are the people

Of Ukraine

Like Afghanistan

Will we fail these one's again?

There is no 'them' now

There's no 'us'.

All should be welcome

What is all this rot and fuss?

There is no 'lady' 

Even 'gent'

Home Office oh so wrong

Even if it is well-meant.

We are all of us

Just the same

If we don't see that

We should really take the blame.

All take to the streets

Make a noise

Let others understand

That we won't stand for their ploys!

Send funds overseas

To Ukraine

They need our help now

Let us make it very plain!

Light the brightest light

Rules must bend!

Welcome people in

And show them that we are friends.

Those who want to fight

Go out there

If you can use a gun

Show their forces that you care.

Go on the Net now

Put Ukraine

Find out how to help

Someone needs us once again.

Knit or sew garments

Send some toys

Help the refugees

Don't let FREEDOM be DESTROYED;

Help them anyhow

It’s not too late

Show them what it is

That makes us Britons Great!

 

Copyright Rosemary Clarke

 STORM EUNICE

Peter Woodgate

It blew my bloody wig off

My flippin eyebrows too

I don’t know how that happened

Cos I used a lot of glue.

My fence, well it went walkies

And the chairs up in the air

I think that they have landed

But goodness knows just where.

My fairy lights they sprouted wings

And nestled in a tree

The blackbirds were so happy

They sent a note to me.

My two potted acers

Are not now very ace

They took off in a hurry

And are now in outer space.

I made a fatal error though

When I opened the back door

Eunice slammed it in my face

I woke up on the floor.

She finally ran out of puff

And slowly waltzed away

but I was not so fearful

when Franklin came to play.

It appears they give each storm  a name

Using the alphabet

Each name is added from the list

And I would like to bet,

That there will be a Janet

A Jane and June and Pam,

A Sis and Carole up the line

A few doors they will slam.

Of course, there will be a Len and Pete,

A Richard that’s for sure

But they will not be bad at all,

Just why, I’ll tell you more.

The female of the species

Is the weakest, that’s a joke

They are the strongest, that is true

Far more than any bloke.

So, when you hear each given name

Your reaction should be clear,

If a male, you can relax,

A female, well, oh dear.

 

Copyright Peter Woodgate

Tylywoch ~ 06

    

Tylywoch ~ 06  Specialisation

By Len Morgan

Galyx and the Natural Disasters; a dozen ten-year-olds and a serious looking young man in his early twenties, were heading towards the central counsel chamber.   A crowd was already gathering even though there was still half an hour to go before the naming ceremony officially got underway.   The meeting was special, the trainers and elders had debated into the night, deciding on the future specialisation to which each young person would be allotted on attaining the age of ten years.   Today they would learn what their future held, they would start to Specialise, and begin their personal training programs.

Finally, after a long expectant wait, the gathered crowd went silent, as the counsellors and committee entered the central arena, solemnly soberly and in single file, as the ceremony decreed.

“We will call each student's name, followed by their allotted specialisation, you are advised to listen carefully because they will not be repeated.”:

“GALEIN – Healer,  BRODEK – Warrior,  SOREN – Intelligence,  GORR – Warrior,  UVALAN – Weapons Master,  TURPO – Warrior,  DANNE – Logistics,  HILDI – Espionage,  PLAVIN – Warrior,  BRAN – Diplomat,  MYNACH – Warrior.”

There was a pause and some discussion amongst the trainers.   Weilla stood dry-mouthed, her name had not been called.   She looked questioningly at Galyx, who could only shrug…

“WEILLA – Generalist!”   A surprised buzz went around the small group of villagers & friends still remaining in the hall.   Weilla stood with a puzzled expression on her face, "GENERALIST?"   ‘What sort of classification is that,’ she thought. 

The others began to drift away, bubbling with excitement over their new found status, Weilla remained in the meeting area, bemused and uncertain as to what action to take.   After a few moments, Galyx approached her.   “I have spoken to the committee, it seems that you are not training in any particular field.   You will receive continued but intensive training in all disciplines until your true vocation is revealed to us, you will then follow your new path whatever it may be.   This does mean you will have to work much harder than the others, but as a concession, you will not be required to carry out Kebu duties.   You will concentrate exclusively on your training.   You may find others looking down on you because of what appears to be a slight on your character.   Bare their foolishness with good grace, and be assured that it is an honour that has been bestowed on you, not a slight.   You will appreciate this more fully as time passes.”

.-…-. 

   At specialisation, Aldor believed the term Generalist had been invented to increase his sense of not belonging.   Now a ranking General, he’d long ago learned that this was not so.  Instead of being responsible for himself and his quad, he found himself responsible for the commitment and well-being of the whole Clan, and answerable for their actions.

 Early in his career during his time at court as captain of Emperor Daidan’s bodyguard, he’d developed a close bond and working relationship with the wile old man.   From an early age, Aldor had displayed a talent for languages.   He’d used this talent unashamedly in the service of his emperor, listening in on conversations between visiting delegations.   He was able to raise his surveillance skills to a new level when he learned to 'lip read' from a man he’d helped and befriended.  The man happened to be deaf but was able to amply repay his debt to Aldor by reading lips for him and eventually sharing his skills with the Tylywoch.   Aldor was able to be a party to any conversation carried out in the open, within line of sight, for up to a quarter of a mile.   His agents often use this as a fast effective means of communication in an emergency.

Because of political factions and secret alliances, the emperor was not always able to rely on the impartiality of his ministers or associates; many of whom were susceptible to bribery and corruption.   Not so the Tylywoch who guarded him, he knew them to be completely incorruptible; which was why he came to rely so much on the 13^th clan.

Emperor Daidan I had created the 13^th Clan, five hundred years earlier, from his personal guard of fanatically loyal supporters, who were not necessarily from the Clan classes.   The members of the 13^th Clan were named ‘The Tylywoch’ (The Ravens), after his personal bodyguard of hand picked agents, many of whom came from the lowest and humblest of beginnings.   He was later to add to this corps, trusted members of the intelligence service and assassins guilds.   Others were enlisted from those marked for death; scum of the earth to whom he offered conditional pardons in return for their loyalty and the use of their skills and abilities in the name of the Empire.   They were funded armed and trained by the very best.   Many rose to high office, acting always as the ever vigilant eyes and ears of the Emperor.   They swore a death pact to the Tylywoch and to the Jade throne, whoever held the office of Emperor had their unswerving allegiance.   In the golden days of the empire, troops led by these warriors conquered the disputed heights of the Sabretooth range and, the poorer barren lands surrounding the empire.   They were granted unofficial title to these lands, that nobody else wanted anyway.   In return, they were charged to provide an unbroken lineage of Generals to protect the Empire from hostile neighbours, and the Emperor, now the Empress, from physical harm.   So they took on the remit to protect the Empire and its Ruler from any form of attack.   There were rumours that their very survival was dependent on ensuring that successive occupants of the Jade throne died of old age, and from natural causes.   This had been successfully accomplished for more than 450 years.   But, despite their unstinting loyalty and total vigilance, their position was still precarious. 

Aldor was concerned, having discovered that the rumours were backed by written plans that had existed for over 300 years, to hunt down and exterminate every last Tylywoch man woman, and child in the event of their failure. 

.-…-. 

Winli watched, with bated breath.   His mouth was dry.   He licked his lips unconsciously as he marked his target; the old faded blue felt hat and jacket Aldor had been wearing, on his arrival in the Eternal City, two days earlier.   The General would die for his sins, at the hands of Winli.   He felt a sense of expectant elation welling up inside.   In just a few heartbeats the accursed Aldor would be no more!   His shining brow exuded a scent of triumph.

Jaffat of the 9^th Clan, a member of the Surbatt, knew how hard the death of his brothers had hit Winli; he was counting on it.   A year earlier, Aldor’s Tylywoch had pre-empted the purloining of a shipment of goods that would have kept Winli’s band of freebooters, and their families, in luxury for a year.   All but Winli had perished to his undying shame.   He’d witnessed the execution of his own brothers – inverted and hung by their ankles from a tree, their heads were split open like gourds - he'd been forced to witness the life leeching slowly from them, with the draining of their life's blood.   The executions were carried out in the time-honoured way prescribed for felons, on the orders of, the  General of Internal Security, General Aldor.   Jaffat, Winli's patron, had been sympathetic even generous.   He had financed the families, supporting them through the winter.  He Promised to provide Winli with an opportunity to exact retribution on his tormentor.   True to his word he had called on Winli two days earlier, taking him to witness the arrival of the Tylywoch, and to mark well the object of his hatred – General Aldor.   He had provided the place for the ambush and the means of revenge – the bow and quiver of arrows.  

He smoothly increased the tension on the bowstring until it touched his lips, a practice bead…   He relaxed.   The string had left a thin blue tell-tale line bisecting his tight lips.   He smiled, satisfied with the weapon.   Unconsciously wiping two sticky blue smudges, from his draw-string fingers, onto his shirt front.   He breathed out then in again slowly, deeply, shaking his arms, relaxing his muscles.   It wouldn’t do to take the shot with tension in his body.  "Now," he thought, drawing the bow a second time adding a second blue line to his lips, parallel to the first; he was aware of neither.   As he loosed the shaft, he felt both elation and triumphant suffuse his being.   He knew in that instant it would fly true and the man in the blue felt hat and coat was dead.  Tears of joy, escaped from his eyes, even as they blurred and his body relaxed a final time… 

Aldor turned the body over with his boot and saw the tell-tale marks of the slow-acting poison on his lips.   ‘Blaqero’ he thought, looking back towards the slumped body of Jaffat, in his blue jacket and hat.   He smiled mirthlessly, it was a mistake to plot with a known felon in a public place, you never knew when your conversation might be heard or seen by a competent reader of lips.   But, officially Aldor was dead, which was just perfect!   Winli had finally served the purpose for which he had been spared.   Setting a chain of events in motion, that would culminate in the final destruction of the Surbatt, an organisation that had been a thorn in the flesh of successive rulers of the Cheilin Empire, and their protectors.

(to be continued)

Copyright Len Morgan

A Bottle of Prosecco 03

  Another Bottle of Prosecco

Jane Scoggins 

Carolyn worked in an old people's home on the edge of town. It was almost at the end of the last row of houses. The Limes was originally a large quite imposing Victorian detached house in its time. There was no sign of any Lime trees now, probably died years ago or were removed to make way for the car park. Over the years since it had been acquired for use as a care home, the property had sprouted several extensions and add ons. Not particularly sympathetic to the original building but all had somehow managed to pass building regulations and now provided the right size and type of accommodation needed for its purpose. It took Carolyn two buses or one bus and a longish walk to get to work. During the two years she had worked there she had considered getting a bike but did not know where she would safely store it at home as she lived upstairs above a newsagent shop with no storage space and not even a hallway in which to stand it. So at twenty one years old and fit and well, she had continued with the bus and walk option.  At first, she was not sure if it would be the right sort of work for her, but it now seemed to be after all. Leaving school she had not got the grades for university and had not wanted to go anyway, Academic life was not for her. She had first tried hairdressing but found it rather boring washing and blow-drying hair and sweeping up. She was not the sort of person to indulge in gossip either, and in her particular salon, it seemed to be a requirement. So she didn’t feel she fitted in with the other staff or the clients for that matter.  Her friends had been more ambitious and could not understand why she would want to look after old folk for a pittance. But once she had got her head around the work at the care home and developed an understanding of dementia and emotional needs as well as the practical ones she felt useful, confident, and best of all appreciated by the residents. The manager had offered to put her name forward for NVQ training, which she explained could lead to promotion and take her on to being a senior carer. If she really wanted to go further she may in time, consider training in management. Carolyn was not sure what she wanted to do in the future but it was nice to think her boss thought enough of her abilities to make these suggestions. Meanwhile, it was all go on the shop floor so to speak with residents needing help with washing, showering, dressing, feeding, toileting, getting up, and putting to bed. Just as important to them was being entertained, socially stimulated, and chatted to. Carolyn had learned so much about these frail residents that amazed her. The lives they had led and the careers and adventures they had had. Some had families close by who visited, others had family who only came occasionally and others had no one at all who came to see them. Carolyn would sit with these residents more often when time allowed and talk with them. The ones with dementia were often confused but had occasional moments of memory of past events. Carolyn tried to be available at those times to encourage those memories and share and store them for a later time when their brain fog had misted them up. Everything was done to maintain stimulation and activity on a regular basis. Bingo, chair exercises, music and singing, pet therapy, arts and crafts. Every so often there was a raffle and staff, residents, families, and visitors were encouraged to buy tickets. All prizes were donated, and all proceeds went towards the annual resident’s day trip to the seaside. When Margaret’s ticket won the Marks and Spencer hamper, she insisted that Carolyn have it, saying to her that it was she, Carolyn, that made her life bearable with her smile, gentleness patience, and willingness to help.

‘What do I want with all that stuff? I was hoping for the furry slippers if anything’ she laughed.   ‘But Mary’s daughter won those for her. By the look of her old tea stained slippers, looks like she needs them more than me’ she whispered to Carolyn behind her hand, and smiled. In the end, the manager agreed to Margaret’s request that she accept the hamper. Carolyn graciously accepted with the proviso that Margaret kept the chocolates; Ben had the biscuits Ron the Cheesy Nibbles and Alice the fudge. Carolyn went home with the diminished hamper with a light heart.  She and her three old school friends met up every so often and this time the venue was Carolyn's little studio flat above the newsagent's shop. It was a bit rundown but the rent was what she could afford on her rather basic wage as a carer. She had made it cosy and her Mum had bought her some lovely bright curtains. All in all, it looked very nice when her friends came round for the evening a few days later. They were impressed, which delighted Carolyn as out of them all she had the least well paid job with the least status. Carolyn served the treats from the hamper and poured them all a glass from the bottle of prosecco. Tasha made note of the deliciousness of the food and prosecco and teasingly asked Carolyn if she had had a raise, knowing well enough that she had not. The other girls also complimented Carolyn on the tasty spread and quality of the prosecco before raising their glasses to her. While they ate and drank Tasha, then Kelly and Jules shared their moans about their jobs. Tasha worked long hours to keep up with her bad tempered Boss’s demands, Kelly had to endure a very boring job, and Jules wasn't sure she even understood what was expected of her half the time, and the other people in the office weren't very friendly. None of them particularly enjoyed their jobs, but were all going to stay because the pay wasn't at all bad, it was as good as they thought they would get elsewhere, and they had got used to having spending money. When Carolyn told them why she enjoyed her job and that it gave her satisfaction, and with promotion on the cards too, they were full of admiration.  Tasha said she thought that more prosecco was definitely called for, and offered to pop down to the off-licence and buy more. Carolyn sipped her drink and thought of Margaret, and her gift. The frail elderly lady with Parkinson's disease who had once been an Olympic athlete and an overseas ambassador.  She thanked her lucky stars to be part of the lives of some amazing people who were inspiring her.

 

Copyright Jane Scoggins