Thursday, 19 March 2015

Redbird and the Vallahan

[Rest is on the right under the label redbird! Enjoy.]

They rode that night as they had never ridden before, with a supernatural speed that turned the stars to silver blurs. Redbird was bumped up and down with a roughness that made her ache all over and turned her legs to two aching blisters. Their haste took them out of the borders of the farm-country by dawn and into the Simarin, a bleak and barren wilderness that Eohin said was no-man’s land – the transition between the woods of Derth and the sands of the Anduin desert.
          “We must be careful in our journey here,” he said, as they finally checked their wild flight. Both elven horses were panting from their exertions, their silken sides heaving as though they would break apart. Redbird could feel the exhaustion in Aquila’s limbs as well, although he seemed less fatigued by the long run than Nirulin and Eohin’s mounts.
Eohin pulled the hood of his cloak over his head so that his bright hair was obscured and gestured to the other two to do the same. “As I said, we must be careful. The Simarin has no king to keep it in order and wild things stalk these desert places.”
          Accordingly, they kept their weapons at hand in the day and made their fires smaller in the night. The traveling was harder through the Simarin, as the wilderness was called, few trees grew there to give them shade and the sun shone balefully on them on them in the daytime. The horses suffered and Aquila’s paws were soon as burnt and cracked as the stony earth beneath their feet.
          Redbird was worried about her wolf- she saw no living things in the Simarin that Aquila could eat and she wondered how they would feed him, but it appeared that Aquila could fend for himself. He began to leave her in the night and return in the morning with blood-stains on his silver coat and, provided he was not devouring stray wanderers for sustenance, Redbird was content with this arrangement. On some days she would ride with Nirulin to give Aquila a rest and on others the great wolf would run ahead of the company with Redbird on his back.
          They had been riding through the Simarin for a week when they met the Vallahan. Eohin used no map or compass for navigation and Redbird privately thought they were lost, despite his frequent claims that Anduin was near. The flat landscape around them looked the same in every direction the eye turned. When asked how he knew where they were going Eohin would reply that the stars and wind guided him and Redbird guessed from this answer that he had as little idea as she where they were.
          The sun was nearing the peak of its cycle on the seventh day when Redbird heard the sound of many hooves in the distance and looked up to see a band of riders approaching them from the east in a cloud of dust.
          Nirulin drew his sword immediately, and Redbird imitated him, but Eohin shouted to them to put their weapons away, with a broad smile on his face. He called out some lines in Elvish to his brother and Nirulin laughed - a merry sound Redbird had not heard in a while – laughing seemed an unjustifiable bother in the desert heat- and sheathed his sword.
          “What is it?” asked Redbird, “Who is coming?”
          “We have chanced upon the Vallahan,” said Nirulin, still smiling, “The free elves that name no land home and roam the earth as the wind leads them. This is fortunate indeed.”
          Redbird recalled what Nirulin had told her about Eohin loving a child of the wandering elves, and wondered with indignation whether he had led them all the way through the burning desert merely for the purpose of encountering the woman of his fancy.There was no time to ask, however, because by then the riders were upon them.
          Nirulin and Eohin’s steeds seemed fairy-horses beside the proud stallions of the strangers. The horses of the Vallahan roused a veritable sand-storm as they moved over the burning dunes. They were shaggy, broad-chested animals with black manes that flew in the desert wind and fiery, rolling eyes. The elves upon these tempestuous creatures were as fair and tall as their brothers from the north, and they too were cloaked and hooded to protect themselves from the burning sun.
          Eohin and Nirulin raised their arms and shouted in greeting, and it was evident that the elf-host recognized them for many arms were raised in return.
          “Hail Eohin and Nirulin, twin-children of Elessari!” cried a myriad of strong voices, “Hail, O riders of Faelen!”
          “Hail!” replied Nirulin and Eohin, and they came at last to a stop.
          “Where do you wander, fair princes?” called a sweet, low voice from the group of riders and Eohin replied, “To the south, to the hill-lands of the Gorgons and then further, to the coastlands of Nod.”
          “We are going that way,” said the voice, “You may ride with us for a time, if you choose, and your companion, the kime-moren.”
          “What did they call me?” muttered Redbird to Nirulin.
          “Wolf-rider,” he replied softly, aloud he said, “We will gladly ride with the Vallahan.”
          “Then come!” cried many voices, and the horses of the Vallahan leapt forward without signal or warning. The company of Faelen followed, and they rode for many hours without a stop. When the afternoon turned to evening and darkness fell, they halted their journey and stopped to rest.
          The host of the Vallahan regarded the party of Faelen in silence for a time and Redbird squirmed under the scrutiny of many watchful eyes. Nirulin and Eohin dismounted, and she did so as well, albeit with less elegance. Although Aquila obligingly stooped for her, she was still a good three feet above the ground when he was on his knees, and her method was to slide as gracefully down his side as she possibly could, landing sometimes on her feet and sometimes in less dignified positions.
          She picked herself off the ground, dusting herself off with as much solemnity as she could summon under the circumstances. Nirulin and Eohin had sunk into low bows, with their hands over their chests, and she quickly did the same.
          “Free people of the Vallahan,” said Eohin, in his most pleasant tones, “I greet you in the name of Faelen, and of the Lady Ariel.
          The tallest elf present, mounted upon a charger who stood pawing the ground at the head of the company, dismounted also. He was the largest elf, and indeed man, Redbird had ever seen, with red feathers woven through his flowing copper hair, and shoulders which would have shamed Hedwin himself, had he been present to see them. A gigantic, unsheathed sword of dull grey steel, quite unlike the pretty, elegant foils Redbird had seen among the mountain elves, swung from his belt; this he drew and presented to Nirulin and Eohin.
          “My sword, and the strength of my hand,” he said, in a voice that sounded as Redbird would imagine a talking bear to sound, “These I offer to the heirs of Orthor, true King of the Alviyen and bearer of the Star-Crown. Share the hospitality of our tents this night, my princes, and rest from your travels.”
          “We are honoured,” replied the princes, murmuring some lines in Elvish after this which Redbird did not understand, although they sounded like more pleasantries of the same kind.
          The gigantic elf turned to her next and she bowed nervously.
          “Here is a face that I do not recognize,” rumbled the leader of the Vallahan, “Who are you, human, who ride upon a moon-wolf and keep company with the Fair Folk?”
          “My name is Redbird, your, er, eminence” said Redbird, “I am known to the people of  Faelen as Tayla Winona. I am a friend of Lady Ariel and accompany the princes on their quest for the Shaisya.”
          “Indeed,” said the elf, not showing by so much as a twitch of his thick, red brows that he was surprised. “Well, well. Talya, the robin, is a little bird, but it flies high and is welcome everywhere as a messenger of spring. We, welcome you, Talya Winona, to the company of the Free Elves.”
          “Thank you, sir,” said Redbird politely, executing another bow. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
          A low laugh rippled around the lines of the Vallahan and there was a sudden flurry of activity. Tents were produced and put up with amazing rapidity – they were large and sturdy-looking, but with a certain rough charm, in bright colours of scarlet and silver and purple. The eerie silence that had hung over the group was gone, Redbird heard shouts, laughter and singing, and somewhere the merry piping of an elven flute.  
          Eohin and Morgen, as it transpired the large elf was called, had put their heads together and were talking together seriously in Elvish. Nirulin stayed beside Redbird, a solicitude for which she was glad.
          Gazing around the camp for the purposes of observation, Redbird estimated that there were around thirty Vallahan in total. All the elves she saw looked alike, tall and fair, with bright, wild hair and strange violet eyes. They moved restlessly with quick, fluid movements from place to place; carrying things, talking, strumming instruments and laughing. Belatedly, Redbird realized that she did not know which of them was Eohin’s beloved. She would have to be no common elf, thought Redbird, to have attracted the attention of the haughty prince.
          “Which of these is Eohin’s lady?” she asked softly, turning to Nirulin. The elf-prince had been walking beside her in silence as she looked around the camp.
          “Lift your eyes,” said Nirulin, “She is the lady speaking to Eohin at this moment. She stands directly before you.”
          Redbird looked ahead and saw, a few feet away from her, a tall elf woman standing beside Eohin and speaking to him, the top of her head nearly on a level with his. As though she had heard the question and felt their scrutiny, the woman turned towards them and smiled.
          Redbird thought that she had never beheld a more radiant countenance in her life, and she had seen many elves in Faelen, even the Lady of the Mountain herself. The elf, as she had seen, was tall, almost as tall as Eohin, and slender as an arrow. Her long shining hair was straight and fell down her back like a curtain of silken threads all the way to her slim waist, and it gleamed with the colour of a clear sky at dawn. Her beautiful features had none of the proud strength that Redbird had noticed in Nirulin, Eohin or Ariel, instead there was a softness about every charming line.
          Then, as she continued to look upon the elf, she realized with a shock that the woman was blind. She had the same eerie violet eyes as the rest of her kin, but they stared unseeingly into the distance, and there was something unendurably moving in their unfocused gaze.
          The woman murmured a question to Eohin and he answered, moving her hand gently so that the relaxed fingers pointed in their direction. She beckoned and Redbird and Nirulin stepped forward to meet her. She asked a soft question in Elvish, touching Eohin’s sleeve, as they approached.
          “The lady wishes to be known to you, Redbird,” said Eohin, undertaking the role of translator.
          “I am Alyssa, daughter of Morgen,” said the elf, in the common tongue and Redbird started. It was strange to imagine that this delicate creature was of the same stock as the gigantic elf. “May I touch your face, Talya?”
          “Of course,” said Redbird and, taking the hands of the elvish woman, she guided them to her cheeks.
          Long fingers skimmed over Redbird’s features and their touch was as gentle as softly falling leaves. Alyssa traced the contours of Redbird’s face with her hands, and then rested them for a moment on the crown of her head. Redbird drew in a sharp breath- for some reason the elf’s touch was warm and familiar, although she had never set eyes on Alyssa before. Alyssa’s lips curved into a smile.
          “My spirit is glad that we have met,” she said, “May the stars guide you in your wanderings, Talya.”
          Alyssa spoke a few words of greeting to Nirulin next and then she led them to a large fire in the centre of the camp where the Vallahan had arranged a great feast. They were bidden to sit on thick rugs woven with fantastic designs and plates heaped with food were placed before them. Aquila, who had been exploring, joined Redbird at this point and lay quietly beside her, his pale blue eyes flickering backward and forward over the scene that lay before them.
Almost all the Vallahan were seated on rugs around a single blazing fire. Although Redbird had initially supposed them only superficially different from the hill-elves of Faelen, she realized on closer observation that they were far wilder and stranger than their kin under the mountain. Some had feathers woven into their hair;others wore wreaths of flowers and wild berries. The firelight played over their uncanny violet eyes and made their features and long figures seem less human than the light of day. They were beautiful but not regal, as the elves of Faelen were; there was something untamed and feral about them.
Redbird was given the privilege of sitting at Alyssa’s side by the fire, on the elvish woman’s right sat the King of the Vallahan, Morgen, and beside him sat the princes.
          After the food, just as bland and distasteful to Redbird as regular elvish fare,the revels began. A handful of something was thrown into the leaping flames by a laughing elf, and they soared up into the sky, dyed purple, blue and pink by some sorcery, and emitting a fragrant odour of spices. Instruments were produced- flutes of sweet and pensive tones and stringed instruments that wailed and mourned hauntingly. Songs were sung and stories were told, and all throughout, the elven wine that lightened the heart and lifted the spirit flowed freely.
          It was a night of music and laughter, with all the reckless freedom of a dream. Soon the Vallahan grew tired of reclining on their rugs and they rose up and began to dance. Eohin, with Alyssa in his arms, was in the centre of the group, Morgen led a stately elf wearing a cloak of scarlet and indigo and Nirulin had long since been captured by one of the Vallahan women, a sprite with laughing purple eyes.
          Redbird, well aware that her grace would compare unfavourably withthat of the elves, stayed firmly seated until Nirulin found her and pulled her to her feet, ignoring her protests.
          “I don’t know how to dance!” she said.
          “Then this is the time to learn,” said Nirulin, lifting her straight off her feet in an energetic turn.
          Soon, she forgot everything but the sound of the music and, together with the Vallahan, she danced until the stars hid their fires and the first pale beams of dawn were touching the horizon.
          It was only when she was swaying nearly half-asleep on her feet, desperate for nothing more than the hospitality of the tents that she had been promised earlier so that she could go to sleep, that she discovered, to her extreme indignation, that the Vallahan had no intentions of going to bed like civilized beings after their night of excess, but intended to resume their journey as the sun rose.
          It had never before been borne in to her so undeniably that her companions were a species entirely different from humans than when she saw, through eyes puffy with exhaustion, the elves demolishing the camp with demonic energy, erasing all indications of the night’s revels from the campsite and finally sitting placidly in their saddles, waiting for the first light, even as she reeled drunkenly in her saddle, slipping into unconsciousness every few minutes.
          As the day-star rose slowly in the east, Morgen signalled, and the lines of the Vallahan resumed their journey in absolute silence. Soon, despite the speed with which they were travelling, Redbird lay slumped across Aquila’s back in deep slumber, and she slept dreamlessly till noon.
          She was woken from this oblivious stupor by the tingling of a sixth sense that warned her of coming danger. A moment after she had opened her eyes and begun looking around her, a cry arose from the elves at the head of the company.
          “Strigai!” came the warning. “The horses of Shaitul and their riders!”
          The words meant nothing to Redbird but from the expressions of the elves around her, she guessed that they contained something dreadful. Her eyes and ears were not strong enough to see the distant danger her companions clearly perceived and she could take no part in the confused shouting that broke out immediately.
          Nirulin’s voice was heard above the frenzy, “We cannot hope to outrun them! Our only chance is to stand and fight!”
          An order was called out in Elvish and the elves came to a standstill. Aquila skidded to a stop, a few seconds late, and then she made out Morgen’s voice, but as he spoke in Elvish, she had no idea what he was telling them to do.
          At his instruction, the elves quickly formed two concentric semi-circles, facing the west. The male elves and some of the females formed the outer arc, while Redbird, Alyssa and a few others made up the smaller inner ring. Swords were unsheathed and arrows were pulled from quivers and fitted to bows. In ominous silence they waited.
          Soon, there was a great noise from the west- a sound of hooves, of shouting and the blowing of horns. A black line appeared on the horizon and then even Redbird’s human eyes could clearly see the danger.
          An army of creatures was advancing on them, riding horses as black as the night and as grim as death. Redbird saw that there were no fewer than a hundred and fifty of these foul beings, at the very least, and as they drew closer, her blood ran cold at the appearance of the monsters.
          The Strigai were enormous in size, as tall as the elves and many times broader. The portions of their skin uncovered by armour were so caked in filth that Redbird could not make out their colouring; later she would find out that their skin was a festering grey. They carried battle-axes, maces and all manner of weapons upon which the blood of their previous enemies was plainly marked. This was not a foe that could be reasoned with. It was clear that they would lay down their arms only when the Simarin was drenched in the blood of the Vallahan and no sooner.
          As the Strigai approached the elves bent their bows and sent forth a volley of arrows.However, the monsters instantly raised a row of blackened shields, bearing a dark, contorted device, and the first attack was easily repulsed. Then it was the Strigai’s turn. A row of nail-studded crossbows appeared and then a veritable storm of black barbed arrows was raining down on them. The elves seemed very little troubled by these- and Redbird soon found the reason why.
          The woman Morgen had been dancing with the previous night stood in the inner circle with her arms raised to the heavens, muttering an incantation. The result of her craft was soon evident- any arrow that came within a certain distance of the elves turned aside to bury itself harmlessly in the sand.
          By this time the Strigai were close enough for Redbird to count the number of scars crossing their grim faces, had she been so inclined. Uttering fearful shouts, they bore down upon the elves and with war cries of their own the Vallahan rode forward to meet them.
          The elves’ formation was soon scattered- the front line tried to hold together but the Strigai fell upon them like waves battering a shore. In a few minutes Redbird found herself alone beside Alyssa, and still the enemies came.
          “Don’t worry!” she called to Alyssa, trying to sound more confident than she felt, “I will protect you.”
          “Stay close by my side,” was the elf’s reply, notching an arrow to her bow as she spoke. A Strigai ran towards them brandishing a sword, and then he fell forward dead, Alyssa’s arrow protruding between his eyes.
          Redbird soon found that despite her bold claim, she was the one being protected by the blind elf. As each enemy approached them, Alyssa’s bow spoke, and nearly every arrow she essayed was death for another Strigai. Redbird had drawn her own bow and was firing as well, but with less success. Either she missed or her arrows did not have the power to do any damage.
          A shout resounded over the battlefield and Redbird recognized Eohin’s voice. He was calling desperately for Alyssa and her answer was just as urgent, for her quiver was emptying quickly.
          In a few moments, Eohin and Nirulin had reached them and together the three elves set upon the remaining Strigai, Alyssa with her longbow and Nirulin and Eohin dealing out death and destruction with their swords that rose and fell like twin meteors on the necks of their enemies. There seemed to be no end to the foes, and as each fell another rose up to take his place. Redbird was primarily occupied with trying to stay alive- although the Strigai fell before her companions like dead leaves fleeing the west wind, she was less successful in her killing.
          It seemed as though they were gaining the upper hand when suddenly Nirulin fell from his saddle with a cry, and Redbird saw that he had received a grievous wound in his shoulder. At the same moment, two of the Strigai managed to reach Alyssa’s horse. They stabbed the animal, broke her bow with a single thrust, and, throwing her over their shoulders, carried her away, screaming, away from the direction of the battle. Two of their companions remained and Eohin glanced from side to side in desperation.
          Redbird saw him and guessed the reason for his indecision. She drew her sword with a ring of steel and said, “Go after Alyssa! I will protect Nirulin!”
Still Eohin hesitated and Redbird spoke again, wondering if she was doing the right thing.
 “You can trust me!I will allow no harm to come to your brother. Go quickly, we do not know what they intend to do with her.”
          The many hideous possibilities inspired by Redbird’s statement seemed to decide Eohin; he nodded to Redbird and rode desperately in the direction the Strigai had taken.
          Aquila shrugged her off quickly from his back as Eohin left and she guessed what he meant to do. He sprang at the first of the Strigai, taking him by surprise, with a ferocious howl, and Redbird turned with a pounding heart to face the second.
          Her foe was the ugliest Strigai she had yet seen and also the biggest. From the fact that his armour was of a better quality than that of his companions and by the scarlet feather that hung from his helm, Redbird guessed that he was a leader of some sort.
          “Human,” said the monster, in a guttural rumble. “Where is the shining crown?”
          “Huh?” was Redbird’s intelligent response, “What do you mean?”
          “Our master tells us that you have the shining crown,” said the Strigai, “Tell me where it is and I shall not kill you- painfully.”
          “I don’t have any crown,” said Redbird, in patent astonishment.
          “You have decided your own fate,” growled the monster and he raised his battle axe and sprinted at her, bellowing a challenge.
          Just as naturally as though she had been preparing for such a moment all her life, Redbird dropped her sword, reached for her daggers and sent Swift into the monster’s open mouth without stopping to think. Then, as he jerked his head back and roared in pain, she sent Sharp into his neck.
          The black daggers flew straight and true, and then her foe was lying at her feet in the dust. Redbird’s knees felt suddenly weak and she slumped to the ground as well. She had let down her guard too soon- the Strigai raised its arm as she bent over him and struck her a blow on the head with the shaft of his axe. She dodged it, but the the axe glanced by the side of her head as the Strigai’s arm fell back to the ground, and she felt a splitting pain near her right temple.
          The Strigai’s last gesture was his undoing- in the effort of striking Redbird he had dislodged Sharp from his neck. A crimson fountain sprung from the hole the dagger left and he bled to death before he could move again.
          Redbird picked Sharp up from where it lay in a pool of her enemy’s blood and then turned to see how her friend was faring. Aquila had overcome his enemy- as she looked on, the Strigai toppled over onto his back and the moon-wolf, with a howl of triumph, lunged forward and ripped out the creature’s throat.
          Sickened by the sight, and even more sickened by the thought that she would shortly have to pull Swift from the place where it was lodged in the monster’s head, Redbird rose to her feet. Steeling her nerves, she reached into the Strigai’s still open mouth, felt the hilt of her dagger, and yanked it out.
          It came free with the sharp, wet noise of a blade cutting cleanly through flesh and the sound was too much for Redbird’s self-control. She managed to stagger a few feet away from the Strigai’s corpse and then she vomited noisily. After the nausea faded, she rose, wiped her mouth, and went to the place where Nirulin had fallen.
          Aquila came forward to support her as she did so. His muzzle and flanks were dyed with blood, whether it was his own or the monster’s Redbird was in no condition to judge. Redbird banished the picture of her yukikime killing the Strigai from her mind and patted his head.
          “You are a true friend, Aquila” she said.
          Nirulin stirred at her feet as she spoke these words and she knew, with a glad leap of the heart, that he lived still. There was a curious ringing sound in her ears and her vision was growing dim. With a small sigh, she fell to her knees in the dirt and then all went dark around her.
            

Wednesday, 18 March 2015

Flight to Anduin

[Redbird again, after a very long time! If you don't remember what the heck Redbird, or any of the other funny-sounding names in this post are about, rest is on the right, under the label redbird. Enjoy!]

             Aquila, as he had previously proven, was easily able to keep pace with the horses of the elves. The leaping, jolting motion of his run was not nearly as smooth as Rakhel's flowing canter, but Redbird felt there was a very important consideration that outweighed this slight defect. Despite the fact that her entire head could easily fit between Aquila's powerful jaws, she trusted him entirely - with Rakhel she had always felt a slight apprehension that the horse's hostility would lead her to buck her rider off at any time for no greater cause than sheer ill-nature.

            A few days on Aquila's back fully accustomed her to the new mode of travel. She did not fully appreciate what a strange spectacle she made riding the moon-wolf until they chanced to pass a hunting party of humans, strayed far from their home farms, as they continued their journey through the land of Derth.

         They had been riding hard most of the morning, and the afternoon sun was shining hot upon them. Redbird and the elves were high up on a gently inclined hillock and the humans far below in the wooded valley when the two parties caught sight of each other.  They were a group of rough-looking farmers, dressed in home-spun cottons and wielding clumsy weapons, no doubt searching for some stray venison to supplement their scanty winter provisions, riding gargantuan cart-horses obviously more suited to lugging plows than to the swift chase.

           The peasants stared for a few moments with widening eyes at the trio silhouetted against the verdant green of the country-side, dressed and armed in a manner that they had never seen before in all of their lives. Then, with shouts of terror and loud cries of ‘The demons from the woods! The demons from the woods!’ they took to their heels with never a backward glance and many gestures to ward away their evil. This was strange, but had anyone suggested to Redbird that it was she, and not the imposing elves who were her escorts, who was the cause of their alarm, she would have laughed. It was only when she caught a glimpse of her reflection as they passed a still, blue lake later in the day that she began to realize the extent of the transformation her travels had caused.

                 The single month that she had spent with the Fair Folk had changed her beyond all recognition. The nondescript village girl from the Hock had vanished, leaving in her place a slim, slight person, arrayed in the manner of an elven noble. Her hair, always long, had grown past her waist. She had taken to keeping it back in a thick braid that wound around her head and her delicate features, previously lost in a dense, dark brown mane, stood out sharply against this frame. The sun and the wind had darkened her light brown skin to a rich mahogany, and her gold and ash-coloured eyes, always her best feature, shone out of this dim setting like jewels.

            By her side swung the long, thin sword the elves had given her and in her belt were thrust her daggers. Beneath her panted a huge silver wolf, with eyes the colour of winter skies and teeth as long and dangerous as butcher's knives. In addition to all these, Redbird noticed with astonishment, lean, hard muscles were beginning to form in her arms and in her legs.

           "Have you finished gazing on your own splendour?" asked a voice beside her, startling her out of her reverie. It was Nirulin, watching her with evident amusement.

            "I look so dangerous," said Redbird, still staring at the face in the water.

            "Hardly. Only humans as foolish as those farmers we met earlier today would say so," said Nirulin, depressing her pretensions in a manner Redbird thought unnecessarily cruel. "Eohin, what say you, brother? There is food and fresh water here. Should we make camp, or continue our journey?"

               Eohin glanced at the darkening sky with evident uneasiness. "The land that lies ahead is barren and wasted - we stand at the threshold of the Anduin desert," he said slowly, "We would do well to stay our travels here while the earth continues to supply our wants."

             "What is your trouble, brother?" asked Nirulin, with furrowed brow, one hand instinctively reaching for the pommel of his sword.

             "Those humans - "said Eohin slowly "The farmers of Derth are not as friendly to the Fair Folk in these dark times as they were when they believed our passing sweetened the earth and caused their buds to swell and burst into fruit. I am afraid that today's encounter will lead to future difficulties,"

               "We have food to sustain us in the wastelands of Anduin," said Nirulin, "It is only the lack of water I fear. It is my counsel that we, and our steeds, spend the night here, and rest and drink to prepare for the rough riding ahead."

             "So be it," said Eohin and Redbird muttered, almost inaudibly, "Yes, I think so too, how nice of you to ask my opinion, Eohin."

             "But there will be no fire tonight," he said, glancing uneasily again towards the woods, "Curse these endless hills! There is no place of concealment to be found for miles."

           They broke for camp in silence. Some foraging in the undergrowth yielded an adequate harvest of miscellaneous roots and shrubs, which the elves summarily handed over to Redbird to prepare the night's meal with. Redbird sometimes thought to herself, with slight bitterness, that her part in the adventure, initially as vital as Princely Mentor, was being increasingly reduced to the measly role of Food-Producer-in-Chief.

           A loud howling broke out as they began eating their dinner. Eohin, in what was no doubt intended as a pleasant variation on his customary gloomy silence, and possibly feeling that he had been too friendly to Redbird that day, chose this as an opportunity to cast her a nasty look and make a dour comment.

               "It's your moon-wolf," he said, "The beast will have all the villagers in the vicinity upon us if he doesn't do his hunting more quietly."

                   Redbird slapped at a mosquito that was humming around her left ear viciously. Silence fell again, only to be broken minutes later by the heavy thud of running paws on hard earth.

                 The ghostly shape of the moon-wolf emerged in the firelight, his flank and muzzle dyed with red stains that shone a ghastly crimson in the light of the low flames. Redbird cried out and started forward, until she realized that the blood staining Aquila's silver fur was not his own. The wolf was dragging along a broken figure that cried out and moaned piteously - it was this man's blood that laced the silver slopes of Aquila’s bulk with bloody streams.

                    The night, till then entirely still and silent save for the soft cries of hunting owls, turned alive with subtly threatening sounds. The elven horses nickered and pawed the ground anxiously, turning their heads to the east. Following their gaze, Redbird looked and saw a dull red glow beginning in the heart of the forest that lay all around them. The dawn was yet several hours away.

                        Eohin instantly assumed control of the situation.

                      "Drop the man, wolf!" he commanded Aquila sharply.

                        Completely ignoring the elven prince, Aquila padded towards Redbird and laid the bleeding man at her feet. She patted neck side gently, feeling the rapidity with which the blood raced through his veins.

                  Perhaps because she and Aquila shared the bond of a life spared, perhaps because days of being in intimate contact with the animal had developed a rudimentary communication between the two of them, Redbird seemed to guess intuitively what her wolf was trying to tell her. The man was a threat; and so Aquila had brought him to her.

             "I think this man was spying on our camp," she said, raising her face to the elven princes, now both standing with heads half-turned to the east. "There is some danger we don't know about yet. Aquila brought him here as a warning."

             Eohin drew his sword and strode forward to the prostate man. "Why were you spying on our camp, human?" he demanded, in a voice like splintering ice. "And are they your friends we see to the east who seek to brighten the night with their fires?"

              Although the man was evidently dazed and afraid, he had enough determination left in him to stare defiantly up at Eohin and spit dryly at the elven prince's legs. "You'll get no answers from me, demon!" he growled, "Bring back the children you stole from us and then we'll see if you burn just as though you were made of flesh and blood like a natural being and not an abomination of witchcraft."

           "What is this madness?" asked Eohin, staring at the man.

             "This is no time for questions," said Nirulin, "Listen, brother! Can you not hear the cries of the trees as they burn and the shouts of the men baying for our blood? We have not the leisure to delve to the bottom of this mystery now. We must fly into Anduin, and hope for a better welcome from the desert sands than we have found here."

           Hastily they gathered their few provisions together and took one last cooling drink of water from the lake. When the crowd of villagers reached their camp there was nothing to be seen, except for a single man, bearing the grievous imprints of the maws of a great beast, who spoke of a witch who could speak to animals just as if they spoke to her in human tongues and of a great and evil magic.

Sunday, 15 March 2015

Losing My Religion

                   A book was given to me by a good friend recently before he left India for the Brave New World, which is actually the Intermediate-to-Courageous, Middle-Aged sort of world right now. You know what I'm talking about. The wide open spaces full of dreams and opportunity and two cars in every garage. Two cars can't do much for you if you have no place to go. Things can't be substitutes for people, not even things as wonderful as books. I'm just eighteen and I don't know much, but I'm starting to figure this stuff out.

                  So anyway this is a book about science written by a physicist named Brian Greene. It's full of interesting questions and fascinating theories as to what the answers could be. One of the questions this book asks is 'what is reality?' And then it goes on to show you that if you define reality as all the things that can be seen, in the whole of the physical space that we inhabit, at this instant of time, then every moment of time exists in the universe simultaneously. Your past and future selves co-habit this universe along with you.

                 This leads to us strange and wonderful lines of thoughts. A time or reality (several, in fact) is present in the universe right now in which you don't exist.Your reality of existence bumps along gently beside the realities of your non-existence. And in fact if all times exist together simultaneously, you don't exist a lot more of the time than you do. It seems like wordplay but it isn't! Just think about that for a few minutes.

                 Another question the book asks is what the greatest philosophical question is. This is, of course, yet another roundabout expression of the eternal question. What is the meaning of life? What are we here for? The book says the answer to this question is another simple question. Should I kill myself or not?

                 Ultimately, according to Brian Greene, the final decision is this: to be or not to be? And all other activities that humanity engages in are pertinent only as they relate to the answer to this question. Why do we eat? Why do we fight? Why do we make love and study particle physics? To determine whether life is worth living.

                 I don't know if this is true or not because, if Brian Greene is right and I don't exist in some other time in the universe at this very moment, there doesn't seem to be much point in fussing over whether I do or not right now. I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds. That's not really relevant to anything, but it sounds cool.

                 So what is The Meaning to Life, the Universe and Everything, anyway? I have no idea, I'm just eighteen. Am I ever going to know? Probably not. Am I going to enjoy the ride anyway? Hells yeah, especially since I found this website: codecademy.com. The meaning of life is HTML. Okay, bye!

Saturday, 7 March 2015

Insomnia

                        My brain has never been wired to sleep at times that normal people would consider standard. I generally find myself beginning to yawn around six p.m. and by seven thirty on most days I'm out like a light. At two in the morning, I'm wide awake again and entire herds of sheep cannot put me back to sleep. I've come to prefer this cycle of awareness to any other because I find I do my best work when other people aren't around to distract me.

                        This happened last week. It was a night much like any other. The blood-moon was slowly rising to its highest position above the purple rag sky. Sleep was an impossibility. Playing tug-of-war with sleep is the most frustrating game - the harder you pull, the further away the rope goes. I got up from bed and took out my violin to play away the time.

                         A cloud floated over the moon, turning it into a ghostly sickle-shape that cast deep crescents over the skin below my eyes. The violin wailed like a restless demon - this was unintentional. I have a tendency to move my bow too close to the bridge, which is the origin of a deeply unpleasant high-pitched shrieking noise. Winds blew grey clouds across the somber sky like boats full of uneasy dead down the river Styx. All sorts of horrible imaginings fluttered down to rest on my tired mind like moths clustering on a flickering bulb. That was when he came.

                          He clawed his way over the railings of my balcony with nauseating smoothness. The sound of his garments as they brushed over the cool stone was the rustling of leaves over snake scales. Every few seconds he would stop and raise his head to the pale witness above, and in the flat light of the moon his face was wetly gleaming. He made his way ever closer to me with gamboling movements on all fours, following a zig-zag path which was impossible to predict. Finally he stood within arm's distance from me, and split his face in ghastly enquiry.

                      "Do you gotta hafta make that noise right exactly now?" he asked, sounding aghast.

                       "Why not?" I asked him "Is it doing violence to your feelings?"

                       He clutched his head in unutterable agony. "Say," he said, earnestly, "Make another pun like that and I'll rend you from throat to spleen and shred you into little bits like so much confetti. Leave it off. Kazafzky."

                      "What does kazafzky mean?" said I, nonchalantly playing a short ditty and adding a little extra vibrato for effect.          

                         "It means I'll feast on your tissues if you don't stop it right this atomic second," said the creature of the night, baring its fangs.

                         "I bow below your threats," I said, "In fact, I'm quite strung up by them."

                          "Bless me," he snarled, pulling his hair out in fistfuls, "If I don't consume you before you've had time to blink twice."

                              "Why don't you?" I asked.

                             "High blood pressure," he moaned. "Diet. Cholestrol. Otherwise I'd snap you up, twiddly strings and all."

                              "I thought you couldn't stomach my playing."

                            He beat himself about the head with clenched hands. "You're a depraved creature," he howled, "I should rid the world of the plague that is you and I would, if I had any sense in my head, only you're so coated all over in nasty chemicals. I'm only supposed to eat organic humans nowadays."

                            "This is a concerted effort to wound me," I said, "I'm as edible as anyone else."

                            "That's all you know about it," said he, with unnecessary rudeness.

                               "Anyway, I am not going to stop playing to accommodate your lack of taste. You don't own the night and I've as much a right to do what I please with it as you do."

                           "But I do own the night," he said, triumphantly, "I've had documents made out an' deverything."

                            He produced a stiff, official-looking card which designated him as the Sole Proprietor of the hours of ten p.m. to five a.m., with all rights, etc., etc., for the next three thousand years.

                     "Who gave you this?" I asked sternly, trying not to seem intimidated.

                     "Real estate agency," he smirked, "I was gonna buy five a.m. to ten a.m. as well in the beginning, but they said they hadn't the time. So stop that infernal scraping or I'll devour you like a herd of cattle."

                     "Sounds like a clock and bull story to me. You'd better watch that agency. I'm going to finish this sonata."

                     I continued to play while he beat his head against the cold floor and moaned. It was a very long night and the rest of my conversation with this interesting being will be narrated at a later date.





Tuesday, 3 February 2015

Is It Legal To Inject Coffee Directly Into Your Bloodstream?




               It's one thirty in the night and I want nothing more in this entire world than to go to sleep right now. And when I wake up, I would like an acoustic piano.

              I remember when I read Marcel Proust for the first time - before I knew that the little Frenchman was the greatest word-smith to ever breathe the perfumed air of Paris. The first passage in his book 'Swann's Way' that really got me was the part where he described how the furniture in his room moved around and rearranged itself as he slept. I like to think that if I just lie down really quietly right now and close my eyes, all the furniture in my bedroom will start silently slipping around the space and squeezing into the various corners. My bed will lift noiselessly into the air and then, with a roll of drums like distant thunder, a perfectly-sized glossy, black acoustic, gleaming with all the soft lights of the night, will glide in and settle itself in its place. The shadows cast by my bed above it will drip slowly down its gentle lines like dark water and music scores will settle over the holder with a soft rustling of paper leaves. At length, Chopin's Nocturnes will emerge softly from the recesses of the baby grand and my dreams will be filled with music.

           How many years do people get for bank robbery? I think I'm becoming desperate. My digital piano has been a good, submissive wife for a few years now, but the strain is beginning to tell. I found a crack in the middle C when I was playing today and it makes an unattractive scratchy noise when I depress it. It makes me catatonically mad when I see people laying waste to peaceful, unsuspecting grand pianos in music videos. Who came up with this abomination? The dudes from the Symbolism and Representation Department of Music Videos were like "How can we show that he really, really likes this girl?"

"How about a shot of him staring out of a car window into the sheeting rain?"

"Yeah, only we've done that, like, a million times. MORE INTENSITY."

"Gosh, well, I don't know. How about we have him destroy a beautiful instrument for absolutely no flipping reason?"


Dear forces of the universe who control Wills and Property, please let a faraway relative for whom I have no particular attachment, who has lived a long and full life and now wants to be taken home to rest with his/her Saviour/cosmic force/dark nothingness, die and leave me an acoustic piano. Plz.

I've still got to do a computer assignment before I can go to bed. AZBOGOROTH, PURIFYING SCOURGE OF THE EARTH WHO WILL PURGE AWAY THE DROSSFUL UNWORTHY, RISE FROM YOUR PLACE OF RESTING AND DEVOUR US ALL.






Sunday, 1 February 2015

5 Ways To Handle Low Self-Confidence

1) Wear a small carton over your head at all times. If they can't see you, they can't judge you! Plastic bags (opaque) will also work. For the fashion-conscious, my next post will be entitled "Matching Your Carton To Your Clothing: Summer Edition". In fact, if it's not just your head you're a little insecure about, invest in a full length body bag for total anxiety avoidance.

2) Just don't leave the house. Ever. You will have to emerge occasionally for supplies unless your apartment is big enough to house a small-ish herd of sheep and perhaps a few vegetable patches. One of the wonderful things about life in our day and age is that supermarkets, with truly exemplary generosity, now offer to deliver groceries directly to your doorstep. Combined with a little bit of online work to supplement your income, you might never have to physically interact with those people who might think badly of you again!

3) Constantly doubt the few friends you have managed to make. Why are they hanging out with you? Because they enjoy your company? Haha, that's cute. So, why are they really hanging out with you? Is it my money? I'll give you all my money.
Let your insecurities dominate every conversation, remember everything is always about you. 
"So I met this really nice girl yesterday."
"OH YEAH, IF SHE'S SO MUCH NICER THAN ME, WHY DON'T YOU JUST MARRY HER?" 

4) Find someone you think is cool and then do everything in your power to turn into them. You can't do this in half measures though. Coolness demands COMMITMENT. And sunglasses. You'll need some of  those too. Imitate everything about this person until your own unworthy identity is finally effaced from the surface of the earth in what can only be described as a service to humanity.

5) OR, if you think any/all of the methods mentioned above are a criminal waste of valuable time, learn to stop caring so much about what people think about you and start enjoying yourself! Seriously, everybody has issues with their self-esteem occasionally, confident people are the ones who've learned how to handle it and move on. As a person who struggles with this, I can tell you that the only way to get over low self-confidence is to decide that it's not really that important how you're perceived, as long as you're satisfied with the way you are.

             So, from this moment forward, it is no longer your job to make people like you. The only thing you're in charge of from right now is learning to love yourself. Go become the person you want to be! As long as that person's not a serial killer, I can guarantee that the people around you will automatically see how great you are. Also, if you have someone in your life right now who makes you feel like you're not good enough, disengage yourself from that situation. You don't need critics outside your head when you've already got so many inside. 

Sunday, 25 January 2015

Kacha Pappad Pakka Pappad (Five Times Fast)

                 Hello, the Internet! It's been a really, really long time since I posted. I have no valid excuses. I could say I've been busy with college and mid-sems and all that other stuff but considering the amount of time I spend on the web just re-reading comics and looking at posts on Distractify (of all things), I don't have the necessary hypocrisy.

                Necessary Hypocrisy is an important quantity for people to possess. If Schindler hadn't been a hypocrite of necessity, he would never have been able to save all those Jews. It's cool to be the type of person who stands up for your beliefs no matter what and all that, but in certain situations it's also important to keep your head down and work quietly for the greater good. Like in the World War, people who were secretly decrypting intercepted enemy information were accused of being cowards for having cushy desk-jobs while the real men were out there on the battlefields, dying nobly for the glorious cause. So, the next time your touchy friend asks what you really think of her new tattoo, just smile, nod and continue life with both eardrums still functioning at optimal capacity.
   
             Here is an example: I cut my hair short recently and it was a decision I'd been planning and talking about for a while prior to the actual deed. So much so that I started hearing things like: "Joanna, please. We're trying to discuss the situation in the Middle East, we don't care what your face shape is."

               I eventually scheduled it for a particular time and told everyone I was finally going to get it done, For Reals ("Joanna, people are dying. To us, the information that assymetric bobs are last season is unadulterated bunkum. Also, we don't even like you, please stop hanging out with us all the time.") But at the last minute, the hairstylist was busy and the appointment was cancelled.

           I met a friend the day after I was supposed to get the haircut and, because I'm a jerk and psychological warfare is good for healthy relationships, I said, "So, what d'yu think of the new look?"

           He said, "Oh, yeah, totally, nice," without batting an eyelid.

          Necessary hypocrisy, people! Of course in this situation it worked against its practitioner but, when not dealing with complete douches, it's usually a good idea.

            Of course, 'Double Standards For Dummies' is not a course Indian children ever need to take. Usually hypocrisy is completely ingrained into the fibers of their being by the time they're eleven. ("That's not smoke you smell on me, ma, it's the sweet fragrance of culture!"). This is also why I find it hilarious when Indian parents bring up the whole "our values are so much better than western values" subject. We're not better people in India, we're just better liars.

             Is a good society ideally constructed out of polite fiction? I don't know. All I do know is, when my grandmother asks whether I'm friends with any boys back in Bangalore, I answer immediately "Friends? With boys? I would have to be drawn and subjected to Chinese Water Torture before I brought such shame to my house and to you."

                 While this situation has its downsides, I don't feel that our public condemnation of the things we consider Not Indian Culture is the biggest problem we have right now. Poverty, lack of infrastructure and the drought of quality education are probably more serious issues we need to tackle sooner. However, when moral policing starts leading to abuse, either physical or verbal, it's getting out of hand. My greatest source of hope right now is the third generation - at this point they seem to be a bunch of logical, liberal young things, cheerfully waving aloft the bright banners of free speech, love and expression and shouting clever things like "just because we go clubbing, we're not terrorists, you bastards!". I don't know how deep this open-mindedness goes though. It could be that this is just another of our seemingly endless pretences.

For Dan only: (everybody else close your eyes) I'm updating Redbird soon, I promise. For serious. You just have to believe in me. (Okay, the rest of you can look again) Have a good week, all!