Tale #119: Little Sparrow

Little Sparrow and her mother fled across the kingdom, and her father the king followed. For two years they ran, and the king and his armies could not catch them, for Little Sparrow and her mother were too quick. But eventually they tired, and so in the third year they hid, and hoped that the king could not find them.

For two months Little Sparrow and her mother hid there in the dark, drinking from the spring that bubbled up through the rocks, eating what little food they had in their packs, holding each other in the dark for warmth, singing to each other for comfort.

But in the third month, the waters in the spring froze, the food in their packs dwindled away to nothing, and the nights became so cold they needed a fire to keep from shivering to death as they slept. So each morning at dawn, and each evening at dusk, Little Sparrow crept from the cave and would flit from tree to tree, crawl through the long grass, and slip silently through the whispering mists of winter.

And like this, for two weeks Little Sparrow filled their bottles in the stream, picked mushrooms in the meadows, and gathered fire wood from the forest, all without making a sound, nor ever being seen by any living soul.

But in the third week, she lost her footing on the river bank one morning and slipped into the stream, and the sound of her splashing echoed through the forest, across the fields, beyond the hills, as loud as cannon fire, as loud as screams. Soon the woods were full of the king’s men, and it was long past sunset before she could find a way back to their cave unseen.

Alas by then it was too late. In the pale phosphorescence of the cave, Little Sparrow saw her mother by the cold ashes of the fire, the king’s huge silver sword plunged through her back and into her heart, her body cold and dead, the only sound the drip drip drip of her blood as it blossomed across the floor and trickled down the rocks to melt the waters of that icy spring.

For two days Little Sparrow mourned and wept. She washed her mother’s clothes with the last of of their water. She kept the fire burning by her mother’s side with the last of the wood. And she sang songs of love and remembrance through the last of her tears.

On the third day, Little Sparrow pulled the sword from her mother’s heart and went out in search of her father the king. The sword was so huge and heavy she could not carry it, and instead had to pull it along behind her, both her hands on the hilt, her back to the path as she walked. The tip of the blade cut a channel in the ground that led all the way back to her mother’s tomb.

For two days Little Sparrow dragged that sword across the kingdom. It was not hard to find her way to her father, for where Little Sparrow and her mother were quick, the king was slow, and where Little Sparrow and her mother were quiet, her father was loud.

On the third day she came to the King’s camp and stood before her father, his huge sword still held tightly in her hands.

“Little Sparrow, come home to roost,” he laughed. “Are you going to peck at me with that blade of mine? It looks a little big for you!”

“This sword is not for me, father,” Little Sparrow said. “I brought it back for you.”

She spun round once, twice, and on the third spin she let the sword go and threw it across the dirt towards her father’s feet. The king picked up his silver sword, and as he held it up with one hand towards the sun, Little Sparrow laughed.

“A coward’s blade for a cowardly king,” she said, and in his rage her father the king swung it down upon Little Sparrow’s neck.

But not even that great blade was enough to save him. For where the king was slow, Little Sparrow was quick.For while the king was furious, Little Sparrow was calm. And though the king was cruel, Little Sparrow was just.

For two hours she followed the trail of her father the king’s blood, as it trickled down the channel left by his sword, all the way back to her mother’s tomb. And in the third hour…

…well, who can say. Who can know.

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Notes:

1. Written between November 18th and November 20th, 2019
2. The first line is taken from The Gunslinger by Stephen King

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Tale #118: The Fortieth Dream Of The Waiting Prince, In His Time Of Seclusion, In The High Palace Of Eternal Solitude, Above The Clouds Of The Empire’s Reality, Beneath The Moons Of The Empire’s Imagination

This morning, my Lord told me of his dream of the night before. And he said to me, “My dear scribe, last night as I slept, I dream. And in this dream, I dreamt of nothing at all.”

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Notes:

1. Written in June 2020

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Tale #117: The Eighth Dream Of The Waiting Prince, In His Time Of Seclusion, In The High Palace Of Eternal Solitude, Above The Clouds Of The Empire’s Reality, Beneath The Moons Of The Empire’s Imagination

Now this morning my Lord recounted to me his dream of the night before, his seventh such that I have recorded upon the skin of this scroll, and his eighth in total during this period of his solitude. And he said to me, “My dear scribe, last night as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as confounding as the mysteries of the Forgotten Scholars, which so perplex those of us wise enough to study their writings. For in this dream I had before me my advisors, and the first of them said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the second of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the third of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the fourth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the fifth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the sixth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the seventh of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the eighth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the ninth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the tenth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the eleventh of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the twelfth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.” And then I moved down the line, and the thirteenth of my advisors said to me, “You can trust me, my Lord, for unlike these others, I shall not lie to you.”

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Notes:

1. Written in June 2020

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Tale #116: The Third Dream Of The Waiting Prince, In His Time Of Seclusion, In The High Palace Of Eternal Solitude, Above The Clouds Of The Empire’s Reality, Beneath The Moons Of The Empire’s Imagination

Now this morning my Lord spoke of his most recent dream, which was the third of his solitude, the second of his meditation, and the first since he had drunk of the milk of dreams, which flows so readily in the Gardens Of The Many Moons, for only there is it that the Flowers Of The Mind shall bloom. And he said to me, “My dear scribe, last night as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the bed of my Palace, and sleeping soundly. And as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the bed of my School House, and sleeping soundly. And as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the cot of my Nursery, and sleeping soundly. And as I slept, I dreamt. And this dream was as calm as the waters of the Lake Of Thought, in which yesterday I bathed. For I dreamt I was in the womb of my Mother, and sleeping soundly. And though I slept, I dreamt not at all. For I had then all I wanted, and no thought of anything more.”

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Notes:

1. Written in June, 2020

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Tale #115: A Short History Of A Minor Kingdom

For many years a King and Queen ruled benevolently together over a small yet beautiful kingdom. One day, the Queen gave birth to a young prince, and the King was so happy he began to cry, knowing that his legacy was secured..

That very day, the kingdom was besieged by an army of such great power and ferocity that the King and his people could do nothing to stop them. While the King waited in his castle to meet his usurper, the Queen and the young prince escaped across the sea. As they sailed away into the black of night, behind them the sky was bright as day as the cities, farms and forests of their homeland burned. Only the King’s occupied castle remained unburnt, standing out like a shadow against the blood red flames.

The Queen knew her King had fallen, and she wept until morning, and then she wept no more. In exile, she brought her son up with stories of their homeland, of the beauty of the forests and the lakes, of the bravery and heroism of his father, of the wonderful kindness and generosity of the people.