Story

The Green Dress

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

Flora was the prettiest girl in the village. She was known for her friendliness and free spirit and her very sunny smile. Sam admired her very much and thought she would make the perfect wife to help him run the local tavern, of which he was the landlord. She had all the right qualities.

They hadn’t been married very long when he told her lovingly that he sometimes felt anxious for her safety when she was out alone.

”I worry so when you come through the woods – could you not use the village road instead?”

Flora said, ”Well yes I suppose I could but I love the woods. You have no need to worry.”

”I may not need to worry” said Sam, ”But that’s how I feel and I can’t stop it. If you cared how I feel you would take the village path.”

Flora did care how Sam felt and she thought it wouldn’t be so hard to do what he wanted and so she agreed and she no longer went to the woods. Time spent amongst trees had lifted her spirits. She missed them. But she loved Sam and his feelings were more important too her.

A few weeks later Sam said, ”You know, I really think you talk to the men in the bar too much. It makes a bad impression.”

”I am only being friendly,” Flora replied.

”It’s more than friendly,” said Sam. ”You laugh too loud and do all you can to attract their attention. It hurts me to see it.”

”I am so sorry,” said Flora. ”Don’t be jealous. I love you.”

”I am not jealous,” said Sam, ”It hurts me to see you making such a fool of yourself and the men will take advantage of you.”

Flora felt guilty and stopped laughing in the bar altogether and she kept her eyes down and only smiled a little when serving the drinks.

She decided to make a special chicken dinner as it was Sam’s favourite. She wanted to make him happy.

At the end of the meal he said, ”That was delicious but please don’t suck the bones so. It’s irritating.”

Flora was unhappy. She felt so often criticised but little by little she changed to please him.

One day in the village she saw a lovely dress in the shop and decided to buy it. It would cheer her up and please Sam too. The dress was a soft green, her favourite colour. It reminded her of the woods she missed so much.

That evening she wore the dress to surprise Sam. After she had cooked dinner she went and put it on and came to the table wearing it. But instead of being pleased Sam said, ”Flora you know I don’t mind you spending money but I really think you should have asked me what I thought of the dress first before you decided to buy it. I might have suggested a different colour. Don’t you even care what I think?”

”Of course I care,” said Flora, looking down.

She never wore the dress again. She didn’t feel comfortable in it. A month later Sam asked where it was and said it was a waste of money to buy a dress and not wear it. She never bought a dress again, without asking Sam first.

One night in the bar an old friend of Sam’s said how lucky he was to have married Flora, her being a good cook and all, and Sam replied,

‘Yes she is. She ain’t the girl I married though. I don’t know why. She used to be adventurous and laugh a lot, I liked that about her. She doesn’t smile like she used to either. Changed she has. That’s the trouble – you marry ’em and then they don’t make any effort no more”

Grasshoppers & Locusts

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The Grasshopper is a solitary and pretty creature who does little but eat and wanders through grasses and chirrup. But pressed by hunger in barren land it will scurry to any place where food remains – and so do all the other Grasshoppers! This creates a crowd and they all push and shove against each other to eat and survive and in so doing they tickle each others legs.

Now you might think that this would make them feel merry and frolicsome, but No! not the Grasshopper! For this constant crowded tickling turns him into a Locust! He becomes quite ugly and sprouts wings and rushes off in flight with his fellows and they greedily eat everything in their path. Everyone hates them.

Given help from nature and a situation of peace and calm to gather our thoughts in contemplation we can all find our way back to our more beautiful manifestations and so does the Grasshopper, I am glad to tell.

For when he is full and no longer starving he, being naturally solitary, wanders away again from his fellows and wonder of wonders, away from the crowd with all tickling ended, he becomes once again the chirruping green fellow we all know and love (well, I love them and hope you do too).

So, if your brother or sister turns ugly, greedy and generally nasty and pushes to grab everything and seems to be changing from the beautiful person you know (they may even grow dark stripes and wings, who knows) consider the Grasshopper and give him the food of kindness until he feels full again and also the blessings of space and peace and soon he will chirrup again.

Life can transform us all. If we are unwitting or pressed by harsh circumstance we may become things we would not want to be. Desperation to survive can cause extremes. Take care of the Grasshopper.

The Fool

/ A. Gouedard / 2 Comments

A fool set out on a journey. Yes a Fool! Everyone who saw him instantly knew that was what he was. His face was so innocent. He always smiled. He had not a care in the world. He imagined that anyone who did have a care was the fool instead of him. He was too sweet and charming to be seen as arrogant but in a way he was. I will tell you where he went in a minute.

Now what was this fools name? Let’s just call him Ned. Ned walked about in the world as if it was his personal playground. He whistled as he went, always a merry tune. He lived in a village and his people provided for him and that wasn’t always easy for them but he never noticed that.

Ned spent a lot of the day idling about in the woods. He liked watching nature. That wasn’t stupid in itself of course but he had a habit of poking his nose into places he shouldn’t, like hornet nests and badger holes. I am sure you can imagine the consequences of that! He had been bitten by a badger and stung by a hornet and he was lucky the whole nest didn’t set upon him. Did he learn from this? Well, no.

People told him he should learn from his mistakes. He had no idea what they meant. Surely the same thing wouldn’t happen to him again whether he learned or not. That was his simple minded philosophy. His curiosity far outweighed his wisdom, you can be sure of that.

Ned went on his merry way caring about nothing and taking it for granted that everyone looked after him as much as they could.

One day he was out in the woods and he went further than usual. It began to get dark but he didn’t care about that. It started to get cold and he found a cave to shelter in. He didn’t go in very far.

In the middle of the night he heard the sound of heavy breathing, almost a snore, further back in the cave. I ask you, what would you have done? The sensible thing?

I am not sure that I wouldn’t have done exactly as Ned did in fact. If  he didn’t do it there wouldn’t be a story to tell. You all know that.

So he did what a natural born fool always does. He got up and stumbled along deeper into the cave. Now let’s have a guessing game. Who or what is snoring?

Well it’s obvious really. A dragon. Asleep. Ned can tiptoe away. But does he? Oh no! He has to have a much closer look of course, being Ned the Fool. He noticed that its huge foot, which had very long sharp claws, was resting on something but he couldn’t see what it was so he lifted the dragon’s foot. That had obvious consequences.

The dragon stirred and woke up. Ned didn’t run. Even the dragon was surprised at that. The dragon stared at Ned for a moment and Ned just stood and stared back. Ned was still curious about what had been under the dragon’s foot and he glanced down. He saw a ball of crystal that glimmered and gave out a light. The dragon followed his eyes and then gave a mighty roar. Ned clapped his hands to his ears but didn’t move. He stood transfixed at the sight of the beautiful Orb.

In the light of the Orb Ned saw that there was a huge chasm directly behind him that he had somehow blindly avoided on the way in. The dragon reared up and spewed fire above Ned’s head; a warning blast. Ned bent down a little, covering his head. The dragon swung round and hit Ned a swift blow with his huge tail, which spun Ned in the air and into the abyss. Ned fell for what seemed to him an age. Through the air he fell, head over heals. The world was up, the world was down, the walls of the abyss spun. The pit was full of light. The Orb had fallen after him.

Ned landed on his back with a thud that shook his skeleton to its core with a judder. He was lucky. He had landed on a pile of soft earth and leaves. The Orb landed right in his lap. The dragon roared above but couldn’t reach Ned. Ned sat and gazed at the Orb.

As Ned gazed at the Orb he began to see pictures and visions. It was an endless procession of lessons and consequences, actions and results; his past, his present, his future. He saw how beautiful nature is but he also saw it was necessary to respect it. He saw what other people did for him and how protected he was, and what a fool he had always been. Ned began to understand. A clear intelligence dawned in his eyes. Slowly there came a glimmering of what can only be described as wisdom.

Hours and hours passed with Ned never averting his gaze from the Orb. He started to feel hungry and then he looked about. He saw that long vines clung to one side of the pit and they climbed all the way up. But he knew the dragon was still above.

Ned thought. He knew he could wait for the dragon to go and then climb up and run off keeping the Orb but that might take a very long time and he really was very hungry, and thirsty too.

He didn’t feel it was right to keep the Orb either. What had happened was really not the dragons fault. He had disturbed it and must have seemed like a potential thief.

Ned made a decision. He called up to the dragon.

”I am sorry I woke you up and I didn’t want to take the Orb, but only to look at it. I didn’t even know how precious it is. I am sure you can use this Orb far more wisely than I can. But now both I and this Orb are stuck down in the Abyss. Will you let me come up and bring you the Orb and then let me go? I give you my word that I have neither bad intentions nor a wish to rob you. I have seen much.’’

The dragon saw absolutely no risk in this as he could easily kill the Fool if he didn’t keep his word. He had no actually wish to kill anyone at all. He was a very peaceful and wise dragon. He agreed.

Ned climbed up. Once on his feet he placed the Orb on the ground beside the dragon and he bowed his head in respect. The dragon was very pleased.

”Go back to your world now,” said the dragon, ”and take with you all you have learned. I suspect you have some work in this world and I will watch your progress in my Orb. Know that a dragons blessing goes with you. Use it well.”

Ned returned to his village. People saw instantly that he was changed. Though he still had the pure, open heart of a fool he also had kindness and wisdom in his eyes as clear as day.

Ned still liked to wander and study nature but he helped his people too. When Ned needed to consult someone wiser he would return quietly to the cave and sit beside the dragon and sometimes the dragon just slept but sometimes he talked to Ned and Ned learned much from him.

In time stories about Ned spread and people came from miles away to speak to him and consult him on matters that were important to them. They would show respect and try to call him ‘Oh Wise One” and ‘Master” but he insisted on being called only Ned the Fool. Only a fool calls himself wise. The one who is wise knows he is still a fool.

It takes time spent in the abyss for a fool to become wise but a real fool stays there, whereas the wise fool sees the light and climbs out.’’

The Queen of the Greenwood (a Corona)

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

i sit by the fire in the woodland
all is peace, gentle, quiet, dear,
yet my heart rises to my throat
rises like a spring, a songbird
wings beating, bursting
the well is deep, the moment fleeting
my pulse like water singing
drumming, humming
all fades away on the breeze
even as its golden light glows
shining out in the darkness
known, yet unknown.

home is her, and now.
it comes, it goes, the rose

it comes, it goes, the rose
the wild rose of the woodland
i run, trying to reach it
eagerness grasps only thorns
no perfume, no tender pink heart
better admired where it grows
soft petals shine out in the dark
dark trees loom all around
lost or found it blooms there
where is she in all i seek
she who holds the rose
why does she always leave

turning always to look back at me
she comes, she goes, holding the rose

she comes, she goes, holding the rose
i saw her up on the green hill
weaving in and out of the dance
i bow to her and take her hand
spin her, never win her
that wild, unruly, so gentle glance
as she turns and runs away
always looking back at me
always a footfall further
she haunts me still, never stays
she of the hill and the greenwood
where the paths all lead inward

deeper and ever deeper
into the wood i travel, willingly

into the wood i travel, willingly
this forest so wide and vast
these paths turn on fortunes wheel
darkness and light
all things future, all things past
shadows and clearings
silence and voices
a harp song on the wind
flute and owl hoot
the flash of a birds wing
in the night
i follow the ravens flight

i follow the Raven to the Tower
the gate is locked and barred

the gate is locked and barred
all is empty here
a hollow echo from before
i will not venture in
i stand and feel no fear
the Tower crumbles all to dust
i lay down my ancient sword
my armour turns to rust
my horse is faithful still
i trust to him and the Raven
i will follow his path
it is my own at last

all travellers have a quest
we ride on, finding the way

we ride on to once upon a time
over the hills and far away
where all paths twist back on themselves
always to the greenwood
the distant rainbows end
the treasure at its heart
the place where the rose unfolds
i dream amongst the trees
unafraid of any foe
guarded by a wall of thorns
protected in her circling arms
where all my dreams come true

i will travel on with her
wherever she may go

wherever she goes i will go
i follow in the dance
my pulse like water singing
she of the hill and the greenwood
queen of the shadows and clearings
my armour gleams again
i will be her hero
until my breath gives out
guarded by twisted paths
we rest in peace, with the rose
over the hills and far away
where time will never end

*******

 

a Corona is a series of sonnets strung together by the repetition of a line

The Love in the Harp

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The sun was sinking when I approached the Inn where I had previously left my Harp in safe keeping, it being large to carry with me on my longer journeys. When I entered there was no-one there except the Inn Keeper who was seated by the fire. I had always trusted him. When he looked up and saw me he seemed very uneasy, constantly shifting his gaze from mine.

”Good evening to you Sir,” I said, ”You seem disturbed. Is something amiss? The Inn is strangely empty.”

”No, no,” he said, ”All is well. It’s just quiet tonight. Will you be wanting a meal and a bed for the night?”

I told him I would but had mainly come to collect my Harp. At that he looked uneasy again but stood up, and left the room saying, ”I will see that a chamber is prepared for you. Will you take your meal by the fire?”

I relaxed by the fire and in due course a meal was bought and, having eaten, I retired upstairs and lay on the bed relaxing. Some hours passed. I noted that the night was strangely quiet. There were none of the usual sounds to be heard in an Inn so close to a brook and a wood, as this one was.

It was then that I heard a Harp being played; a Harp that I felt sure was my own.

I got up and left my room, following the sound. The Inn was in darkness, the interior only slightly lit by shafts of moonlight which filtered through the small window panes. The Inn was quite large and I wandered along corridors from door to door following the sound of my harp. Increasing in volume the sound lead me from door to door but then, as I reached it, always grew distant again.

Feeling that someone was playing a game with me and one that I had not the patience or willingness to play I decided to return to my room and solve the mystery on the morrow.

As I approached the door to my room I heard my Harp louder again. The tune was very sad and dark and was one I had never heard before. It was strangely foreign to my ear. I entered my room.

Sitting by the now wide open I saw a woman playing my Harp. Her back was to me. Her hair, which reached to her waist, was dark as a moonless night and her gown of grey was bejewelled. I stood entranced, by both her and the wondrous music. I hoped she would turn as something in the music made me long to see her face.

I stepped towards her.

It was then that I noticed her hands on the strings.

They were wrinkled and ancient. I stood transfixed, watching them stroke the strings. She turned and looked up at me.

Her face was not only that of an old woman. Beauty can exist in age just as it can in youth. This face was hideous as if centuries of venom filled it.

Her eyes held mine for what seemed an age and I felt my energy draining from me. My head filled with terrible visions.

I saw her feed on dead bodies in graveyards, snarling and ripping off limbs. I saw her take a crying baby from its cot and swing it round her head, smashing its brains out on a wall. I saw her cause lovers to destroy each other. I saw her stand by laughing as a man, drunk and insane, took a knife and cut out his mothers’ eyes. I saw her chain a woman to a wall so that men could rape her and then, afterwards, kick her and spit in her face after as she lay sobbing on the floor, trying to cover herself.

I saw aeons pass, time flying backwards. She was there, present at the heart of every sorrow and act of anger in history. She deceived with beauty and promises of power or wealth and bought the good to their downfall. She crowed over poverty and starvation. She rejoiced in every despicable action.

Even the memory of some of these visions is too painful to relate. I could not bare such horror and fell to my knees in anguish. I tried to resist what I saw but could bring no kind of other visions to my mind against them.

She stood over me and spat out these words, ”Fool! You who believe in Love and Kindness have no resistance against me. I am evil and hatred and I will take what you love and you will follow me! You will meet your darkest fear!”

With that she spread dark wings and flew from the window, leaving me shaking. The Harp vanished. I knew she had taken it and I was struck with grief.

Now, you might think ‘Let the harp go, don’t follow her!’ But this was not just any harp. It is an ancient Elven harp, blessed by my ancestors, and belonged to my mother before me. It plays its own tunes that my fingers only follow and it brims with poetry. It was as if she had stolen my mother’s heart and dragged it to hell. I could never rest while this evil being had it.

I knew she had entered the wood so I followed. All was hushed and still but as I walked I felt eyes from behind every tree. As I turned to look I saw them briefly before they vanished.

After a time I became aware of a scuttling sound that sent shivers up my spine but I pressed on into what became denser and denser undergrowth that seemed to cling to my boots more and more with each step.

After a time I heard the harp in the distance. I followed the sound.

As the harp grew louder, and seemingly closer, the scuttling sound increased.

Being well aware of what my darkest fear is I was almost daunted as my imagination leapt ahead of me.

A little further on I saw a cave entrance and the song of the harp echoed within it. Approaching I saw that the entrance was beset with webs. Dimly, through them, I saw the Harp. It played alone. As expected the cobwebs stood between me and the Harp. I stood a while, trying to brace myself against what I knew was to come.

I had no weapon; only determination.

I started to push the webs aside. They broke easily at first but grew stronger as I was further in and spiders began to throng around me, getting in my clothes, my hair, my eyes. It was hard to continue as every fibre of my body warned me to flee.

I reached the heart of a huge web and all the spiders suddenly left me in peace. The woman then appeared and began to wave her arms as if casting a spell. The movement was that of a spider.

She transformed before my eyes. I was hypnotised with fear and loathing. This was a spider so huge I could see it’s fangs and the gaze of her eyes which, as before, were filled with evil intent.

She reached out her legs and dragged me towards her. I screamed. I felt her all over my skin as she stripped me.

I begged. She bared her fangs. I tried to think of beauty and peace and couldn’t. I tried to close my eyes but it made it worse, to feel her but not see her. She toyed with me, enjoying my horror and feeding on my fear.

I became a scream that would not stop.

There was no feeling of hope left in me. The time ran slow and I was oblivious to all but her. The pain and fear never abated for a moment. I only wished I might die.
I saw pleasure in her eyes for a moment as I called upon death to save me. She wanted my humiliation as well as my despair. Her jaws were full of drool. I almost wished she would drown me.

Vaguely, at the back of my mind, I heard the tune of the Harp changing. Each note seemed to respond to my pain and it began to soothe me.

Strands of the web began to snap but the Spider still clung to me fiercely. The music grew stronger. The Spider bound me and began to wave her legs above me as though warding the music off.

I heard my Mother sing. She sang of Love and Beauty, Birth and Starlight. Her voice sang in the strings. The Spider, cringing, slowly backed away and shrivelled and, becoming a woman again, she let out one long piercing cry and fled out of the cave.

The song faded, leaving me there bound on the ground. I started to try and free myself when the spiders began to gather about me again. I lay still and waited. I did not fear them any more. They swarmed over me and freed me. I laid there amongst them, admiring their grace, listening to the Love in the Harp.

Ode to the Horse, so Fine

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Riding in from the fields of scented heather

Leaving the hills of our home behind

We entered into the city on a horse so fine.

All decked out in embroidered leather

His deep chestnut skin like satin gleamed,

His mane was the gold of a polished crown,

A white diamond shone on his brow.

 

Wonder of wonders, this horse, and the maid

With the sparkling eyes, were mine.

The rings on his bridle jingled

In harmony with her sweet ankle bells

As he sidled, side-stepped, pranced.

 

His ears flicked and turned to every sound.

The curve of his neck showed pent up power.

Who would not admire such a horse

As he insolently passed them by?

He circled and danced, lord of the ground,

An enchantment to hold every eye,

A part of the seeds of our undoing.

Such seeds there were aplenty then,

One was surely jealousy.

How could I know we rode him to our ruin.

 

What else did they begrudge me

While I sang the songs of my homeland,

The land I loved so well.

This city was never ours for the taking,

The world was ne’er so good to our kind

Though we were royally welcomed there.

Youth is innocent, trusting, blind.

 

His eyes were wild and wide,

His tail held high, a flag of joyous defiance.

His bridle caught the sun.

He tossed his head to show his fire.

His hooves rang out on the cobblestones

The horse and I moved as one

As I danced him round the town,

and the sun went down.

Through the Fire – a story

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

Through the Fire

 

A Lady sat by a fireside in a warm and pleasant room.

The Lady was young, she was innocent of face and fair.

In the corner stood a harp, a mirror, a loom.

Deep and deeper into the heart of the glowing fire

She gazed seeing images flickering there

While she considered her hearts desire.

 

Her imagination set free, she wandered.

She saw pathways and forests and caves,

Fortunes won, lost and squandered,

Extravagant creatures with wings,

Battles, books and jewels and dark open graves,

Crowns and horses and rings.

 

Her heart beat fast and filled with desire

For all that she wanted from life.

She longed for adventure and never to tire,

Yearned for love and wealth and fame.

In a heartbeat she forgot herself

And reached her hand into the flame.

 

She had passed through the fire,

Into the cave she had seen, encrusted with gems.

Diamonds, emeralds and rubies hung from the roof

Entwined and supported by golden stems,

She plucked them like fruit and hid them deep in her skirt..

She turned then toward the cave entrance,

When a sound she heard made her quickly alert.

 

She heard the song of a distant bird,

The like of which she had not heard before.

Having no plans or well laid intentions

She decided to find the source of the song.

She stepped bare foot from the cave onto the mossy floor

Of a vast forest filled with the scent of flowers.

 

Looking about her she felt she didn’t walk long

But as the light fell she realised

She had been walking for hours and hours.

She saw a giant oak, gnarled, misshapen and ancient

In a clearing surrounded by lofty trees

And high in its leaves, on a far off branch, she saw the bird.

The bird continued to sing as if it intended to please.

The bird was unexceptional and grey of plumage

But its eye was very bright and in its beak it held a jewel.

 

She greeted the bird by instinct, feeling sure that it could speak

and then asked the question that burned in her heart

”Pray tell Sir Bird, what is that jewel you hold in your beak?”

The bird placed the stone beneath his feet

” Lady pray tell, what would you like it to be?”

She considered this question a while

Realising there was magic afoot

She answered, with what she hoped was an alluring smile,

”The Stone of Immortality”

 

”And why would you want such a thing?” said the Bird

”Surely this is what we all want” she replied.

The Bird cocked his head

”I can think of many things a girl such as you could want,

Happiness, peace, the joys of the bridal bed,

Knowledge, understanding, children, wealth…..?’’

”Yes I do want those things’ she said,

”But forever, in eternal good health!”

 

”You will have all else forever also” warned the Bird

”Grief, sorrow, loneliness, you may sometime hunger or fear,

cruel words and dark thoughts are also a part of this dish.

Immortality is not a bed of roses, my dear.”

With that he pushed the stone off the branch

To land at her feet. ”Pick it up, or not, as you wish.”

Without hesitation the Lady stooped down and took it.

At first it dazzled and burned in her hand,

But finding herself in its possession she bid the Bird farewell

And set out smiling to further explore the land.

 

She gained fortune and fame

For she had long to develop her naturals talents

And many came to revere her name.

She achieved every challenge to which she aspired.

Her fairness of face never changing

She found love and was much admired,

She fulfilled every one of her dreams.

 

But she also saw that with all these blessings

Immortality is not the gift is seems

And the Birds warning had been correct.

She saw all her loved ones pass on without her

And with this sorrow came the endless time to reflect

Upon her loss of all she had treasured most.

 

She watched her friends over aeons,

Numerous they were, a vast host,

One by one, in repeating pattern, pass away.

While she remained lovely and vibrant with health

They all seemed to go as if in a day.

She saw her lovers beauty and strength fade,

Her children grew old before her eyes.

She kept her fame, her knowledge, her wealth

But these are worth nothing when all we love dies.

 

Feeling tired, abandoned, alone, forlorn

She returned to the Forest, to seek the Bird.

She arrived at the clearing in the soft light of dawn.

The Bird sat as before high up in the Ancient Tree.

He no longer looked grey, unworthy of a glance.

This time she saw that he was a Dove.

The bird moved on his branch in a circular dance,

And then gently bowed to her. ”What is your desire?”

 

”I want to be mortal” she said ”and return through the fire

And accept my true fate, whatever is to become of me”

”I see said the Dove, then i must ask you one question,

What is the greatest treasure anyone can possess?”

Without hesitation the Lady answered, Love.”

 

”You have learned the greatest lesson my child”

The Bird bowed again, ”Now return through the fire,

Use this understanding well, for short and fleeting

Is your time in this world. Go now and find Love,

But most of all remember to nurture and live it.’’

 

”This will be the greatest gift you take from our meeting;

Love is not for the taking. Remember to give it.”

 

(this is an extract from The Raven and the Storyteller which can be found on Amazon)

The Whisper and the Rose

/ A. Gouedard / Leave a comment

The Whisper and the Rose.

A warrior was returning from a long war, one that he no longer believed in. He was tired and felt himself growing older. He was walking across a barren and desert place. His horse walked beside him with a drooping head. They had seen oasis after oasis but all springs and wells were dry and the water supply they carried was running very low. They had an urgent need for water. As the sun sank and the desert chill of night began they saw a crumbling sandstone palace ahead and plodded towards it.

Passing through the gate, the palace seemed deserted. Water ran from the mouth of a stone lion and into a pool on the other side of the courtyard. The warrior felt he had never seen a more beautiful clear water. It twinkled, reflecting the sunlight and distorting the blue and gold mosaic patterns around in the fountain bowl. He licked his parched lips and hastened toward it.

”Not so fast!” a man’s voice said. The warrior spun around, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

An old man advanced toward him through an archway. As the warrior looked around he saw people peeping at him from behind the carved screens around the inner wall but as his eye fell on them they scurried away.

The old man looked strong despite his age. He walked with a very upright, straight back and a manner of great self-assurance. His robe was richly embroidered, dark hues against black, but it was faded, as if the sun had bleached its colours almost entirely away. He held a black staff in his hand that glimmered slightly but he had no other weapon. He smiled grimly.

”I do not forbid a stranger and his horse refreshment Sir” he said ”But be warned that if you drink of this water you will place yourself in the debt of all who dwell here.”

”Very well,” said the warrior, ”Even if I can deny myself water I would not deny my horse. What payment do you require to settle such a debt?”

”I will but ask that you do me a simple favour,” said the old man. ”Now drink Sir.”

The warrior walked with his horse to the fountain and stood aside while his horse sank his muzzle into the water and drank a long time. When his horse had finished the warrior took a brass bowl that hung on a chain and dipped it into the fountain several times and drank until his great thirst was quenched.

The warrior then lived amongst the people of the palace for many days and no favour was asked of him. They lived a simple life. They kept goats and chicken and a few sheep but, in the evenings, when they sat around the fire together they made no music and if any told a story it was dark and grim and no-one ever smiled. Only the men sat close to the fire. The women sat a little way off, their faces veiled. They all wore sad grey robes and only the old man’s robe was embroidered.

It became clear that they rarely saw strangers and that it was long since they had travelled anywhere for trade.

After a few days of this grim life the old man came to the warrior.

”I ask you now to return a favour in exchange for our hospitality.”

”Yes, as I promised,” said the warrior.

”I want you to guard the stone box you see at the centre of the courtyard,” the old man said, gesturing toward the box.

”You will guard it alone every night and you must ignore anything you hear. Don’t trust any voice.”

”Very well,” said the warrior, looking perplexed.

”Don’t worry about this,” said the old man, leaning a little on his black staff. ”All that is in the box is a rose that grows beneath the ground and gains its light through the filigree stonework of the box. Also I want you to water it each morning. This must be done without fail so that it does not die.”

The warrior did as he was bid, taking a lantern with him. He stood beside the box and put the lamp on the floor beside the box. He peered in and was surprised to see that the rose was black. He wasn’t quite sure if this was caused by darkness and shadow but it seemed to be so.

As the moon reached the apex of the sky he heard a quiet whisper.

”Let it die.”

Nothing more.

By the morning he thought he had only imagined the whisper and he took a pitcher of water and poured some down on the rose.

The next night the same thing happened. The whisper came again and said,

”Trust me. You don’t know what you do. Let this black rose die.”

The warrior watered the rose at dawn and went to the old man and told him what he had heard.

The old man just shrugged, ”I told you not to listen. This whispering voice is a strange illusion that afflicts all who guard the rose and it lies. The rose must not die. Our lives depend upon this. This place is under a spell and the black rose is our protection.”

Night after night the warrior guarded the rose. He even forgot his own journey and he turned a deaf ear to the whisper that came in the moonlight. Weeks and months passed.

One night the whisper sobbed and said,

”You are blind. Let the rose die. This man keeps us prisoner in our own lands. You know nothing of this place. You think he helps you. This water is free to all but for this man who stole my home. You have been tricked into an evil. Let the rose die and set me free.”

In the morning the warrior watered the rose but his heart was heavy and his mind perplexed. He realised he had no idea who lied and who told the truth. He had no way of knowing. He thought it might be wiser to trust a man than trust a whisper in the night. He decided to continue to keep his promise but he didn’t speak to the old man about it again.

The next night the whisper came again, sounding frustrated,

”If you don’t listen to me you will become as bad as them! You are falling under the same curse.”

For the first time the warrior spoke back to the whisper.

”Why do you say that?” he said.

”Do you feel any wish to travel on and reach your home, as you did when you arrived? Don’t you see that nothing grows here but the rose? There is no music, no laughter. The place is grim and barren with no life and it’s the same for miles around this place. All is barren and deserted. No plant lives but this rose. You are strong and could ride away and yet you stay. Ask yourself why!”

The night passed and the warrior watered the rose at dawn as always. But all next day he thought. He wondered why he had not resumed his journey. He was even starting to neglect his horse. This startled him. He vaguely recalled that he never neglected his horse. He finally felt suspicious and a little as if he was waking from slumber and he resolved to speak when the voice whispered to him again that night.

He went to tend to his horse with extra care before he went to his guard post by the box that night. He felt sad that he had not spent as much time with his horse of late. The horse snorted and pushed against him. He rubbed his horses ears thinking perhaps it was time they just left this place, but he felt so lethargic the instant he thought it.

The warrior walked to his guard post feeling more tired than he ever had before. When the moon hung high in the sky he thought he saw a faint glimmer out of the corner of his eye. The feeling that someone was there grew stronger and he saw the glimmer again.

Then he heard the whisper.

”I beg you not to water that rose before you become truly like the rest of them! I know you feel it beginning now. Don’t water the rose. You only have to fail to water it once and I and my people will be released. Remove this terrible enchantment!”

The warrior suddenly heard in her voice the urgent honesty with which she spoke. His instinct told him she spoke the truth.

When dawn came he left the rose dry and turned to walk away. He heard a tremendous crack behind him as the courtyard split across the centre and up from the ground coiled the rose, on a stem as thick as an arm. The huge rose bent down its hideous, heavy head above him. It had fangs like a serpent.

The warrior drew his sword and hacked at the stem as the rose lashed about, snapping at him. The old man rushed into the courtyard shouting curses and pointed his staff at the warrior.

The warrior struck a mighty blow at the rose just beneath its massive head and it fell to the ground, spewing out an odious sap that made the warrior almost slip and lose his footing. In an instant the glimmer he had seen before appeared between the warrior and the old man and formed a shield that deflected a flash that shot from the staff toward him. The old man fell to the floor.

Behind the warrior from the box a beautiful white rose grew. It had a graceful stem that twined and swayed and many flowers were on it. From the glimmering shield the whisper spoke again.

”Warrior, pluck one white rose and throw it into my light.”

The Warrior acted fast and did as he was bid. The old man on the ground shrivelled up and vanished and a beautiful woman with the wings of a Fae stepped out from the light.

The beautiful Fae walked to the water fountain and filling a pitcher bought it back and watered the white rose and as she did so the people of the palace began to appear, looking bemused and rubbing their eyes, as if they just stepped out of a dream. They thronged toward the Fae. Slowly they all began to smile and talk. The courtyard was full of the wonderful, gentle perfume of the white rose.

The Fae stepped up to the warrior and gave him water from her pitcher and smiling she thanked him.

”You will soon see changes here” she said. ”Go to the walls and look out.”

The warrior climbed the stone steps that led up onto the parapet and looked out. As he watched he saw grasses and corn thrust up from the ground toward the morning sun and a spring arose from a rock a little way off and formed a pool that became a stream that ran out across the land.

He heard the water of a broken fountain at the gate begin to bubble. Birds appeared and bathed in it, splashing the water over their wings and dipping their heads. All the time plants were growing and he saw the land transform to the soft, fresh green of new growth where all had been desert before. He saw the beginning of the growth of trees nearby.

When he went back down to the courtyard there were children playing and a boy was playing a flute for girls who danced and chased each other, laughing. The men and women bustled about preparing a feast. The women had removed their veils and showed their lovely faces. The Fae sat beside the White Rose and smiled.

As soon as the feast was almost ready the people went to change into bright and colourful robes and they gathered flowers from a garden that had grown outside the gate and entwined them in their hair.

Soon there was food and music, laughter and dancing and all the time the Fae just smiled quietly beside the Rose. The festivities went on throughout the night, lit by lanterns and candles and the stars and moon that shone down from above.

In the morning the warrior went to the Fae and said,

”I will take my leave my Lady. I have delayed my journey far too long.”

The Fae nodded and plucked a rose. She handed it to him saying,

”This rose will never die and for as long as you live, or your children after you, you will never want for food or water, no matter where you are.”

The warrior placed his hand on his heart and bowed his thanks.

”I am only sorry to have tried your patience my Lady” he said.

”Ah no,” said the Fae with a wide smile, ”This was nothing. We had waited a thousand years for you to come. I admit I did begin to despair one night recently, but one night only. Hope never dies if you nurture it. It may lay deeply hidden, like a seed, but it can always grow. The name of this white rose is Hope.”

The warrior mounted his horse and rode out across the fertile land, the white rose in a pocket, close to his heart, as he kept it from then on.

The day Moon met the Raven

/ A. Gouedard / 1 Comment

The day Moon met the Raven

A man who had for some time been travelling the road in all weathers, sat down at the roadside under a sheltering tree. His jacket was richly embroidered but his leather boots were dusty and worn from long walking. He had little coin in his purse but his pouch was full of papers covered with poems and interesting thoughts gathered here and there. He was tired, too tired to even be capable of assessing his own mood at that moment. He was, he thought, probably content and in balance.

As the sun sank and dusk fell he looked up and saw the moon rise and he realised that it was the Autumn Equinox, when the length of the day and the night, darkness and light, are equal. As he relaxed and watched the moon climb higher into the sky his mind drifted and he began to assess his own life, dispassionately.

Awakening from his trance he realised that he had been joined by a white cat and a raven. He thought they must be hungry and began to feel in his pocket for food of some kind but the Raven, seeing his intention, said,

”Sir, don’t let us trouble you, for we are not hungry. We came to sit beside you only because your appearance interested us.”

With that, they began to discuss him as if he was not there, but also as though they could read all his thoughts.

The cat said ”He seems to me a miserable man with a sad life. Look at his boots and the lines that run down by the sides of his mouth, Raven, and he clearly has no money. I would say he is a terrible failure. He has nothing. He looks homeless and I am convinced he has no wife and no children.”

She paused to clean an ear with her paw and looked thoughtful.

” I expect he has travelled much too, and those types who keep feeling the need to move on seldom manage to keep many friends. Doubtless he is also unemployed or he wouldn’t be sitting here dreaming. It all looks like doom and gloom to me. How very sad! ”

”Squawk,” said the Raven, cocking his head at the man and considering, ” I see him quite differently. I see a man with laughter lines round his eyes and he clearly loves beauty, just look at the jacket he wears! And he may not have much in the way of coin but he is generous with what he does have or he would not have begun to search for food when he saw us. He is kind I think. He does seem to have a lot of papers in his pouch and I suspect they are poems so maybe he has, not a job, but a talent. Also he is tall and strong and I doubt he lacks for food. I suspect he is also armed, a dagger slipped into his boot perhaps.”

The Raven hopped onto the man’s shoulder to get a closer look, thinking that he had remarkable peculiar ears, but discarding the point as irrelevant for now.

”As for being much travelled, well yes, but is it really true to say that a rolling stone gathers no moss? True, he probably has left friends and loved ones behind, but just imagine all he has seen on the way and all of the people he has met. I think he has had a rich life and must be happy and could even be congratulated.”

The Raven and the Cat then proceeded to squabble and the man feared the Raven might be eaten, so he spoke.

”May I interject in this argument for the sake of your peace?”

”Yes, please do”, said the Raven, hoping for an end to the fight and some wisdom.

”I suppose so” said the Cat, shrugging and sounding gloomy, ”Much good may it do, for I expect none.” She sat grooming herself again, looking bored.

”Well” said the man, ”It seems to me that you both see things from only one point of view. You, dear Cat, are entirely negative and this charming Raven sees only the good and the positive in all.”

”So”, said the Cat, expecting to lose the argument, ”Tell me I am wrong then. Go on.”

At that the Raven looked pleased but sighed in a way only a bird can.

”The truth is,” said the man, ”that you are both right but without each other you are both wrong.”

”How so Sir?” said the Raven, looking puzzled.

”I am both happy and sad.” the man replied, ”The sum of all you say is true. But if only the negative was true I would just sit here and give up and if only the positive part were true then I would have learned nothing. The positive and the negative work together in my life. Joy is my desire and I have often had it but I know that sorrow, which I also have had, can bring depth to feeling and we can’t appreciate the one without the other. So I sit in the middle and am content. You need balance!”

With that, the man stood up.

”I will continue my journey now”, he said. ”I wish you both well and safe paths.”

The cat turned her back and pretended to look at something else, as Cats always do when embarrassed and the Raven said,

”Sir I will come with you if I may. I have always liked travel. I sense that you are restless at night and perhaps when you are tired I can lighten your day.”

The man smiled and nodded his head. As he began to walk off he said, under his breathe,

‘’Gold leaves spin, falling, bringing sadness and delight. The balance is held.’’