This is the first half of my new short story... Ancient twisted olive trees and blossoming magnolia filled the air with the scent of a whores skin. In the garden, crickets played a lazy tune while the last red light of the sun failed into smoky dusk. The clamor of the clay city weakened among the gardens frivolous paths and random vegetation. This is why the Traveler had come. For some quiet. To be alone, away from grasping questions, hungry eyes and insurmountable expectations. He passed under a stone arch, guiding himself through the gathering night with a walking staff. He took unusual pride in his staff, it was very tall and had three segments giving it the aspect of a giant finger bone. He had found the staff while toiling across a parched desert. The floor of that vacant landscape looked like the earth was shedding her skin. His water had been gone, his food had been gone, his friends had left him and he was ready to collapse into the afterlife. Then he saw the staff stuck into the earth as if fallen from a great height. He struggled to pull the staff from the cracked hardpan beneath his sandals. When the desert let go its grasp upon this sun bleached marvel of wood, life saving water pooled in the hole. The Traveler cared not at all about his new found fame or fortune. His followers irritated him constantly with groveling and fool hardy fascination. They sat breathless at his every word. He knew they were false, he knew they believed he had a secret. Some trick that he would one day reveal to them. There was no trick. As he walked through the garden his initial relief began to turn into the suspicion that some vision was about to be inflicted upon him. There was something unsettling about this place. Flowers looked like bulging eyes bobbing upon the stalks of hidden bush creatures. The moonlight scattered upon his path revealing gravel turned into heaps of angry maggots. His hands itched suddenly, heat washed over him like burning tar. The Traveler resisted these sensations and continued deeper into the garden. After a very short time he came upon a grove of fig, almond and stumpy palms. Within the oddly spaced trees he spotted a fire pit home to a merrily burning blaze. Ashy white smoke peeled off the flames and smelled of expensive oil and Jewish incense. Cedar logs formed a circle around the clearing and the Traveler sat down. He was wearing brand new linen robes and he began to rub dirt on them. He hated newness, in fact it was giving him a rash. He wished for his old dilapidated road rags left some place behind. He examined the scene before him looking for who had set the fire, but he detected no one. This place had been expecting him, he knew this. After living life guided by his inner compass he felt that this place held some import and he must await its revelation. The Traveler unlaced his sandals and rubbed his feet in the cool dirt. He closed his eyes and listened. He heard drunken revelers in the streets beyond the walls of the garden, dogs barking, a toddler howling some primitive emotion. Then he felt he was not alone in the garden. His eyes snapped open but the clearing remained empty except for the frolicking flames and fleeing shadows. Night fell heavily and with it came a silken breeze that taunted the mysterious fire. The Traveler began to understand that he was being watched by someone so he said, Whoever is there, come out! Destiny has brought you to me. Fear not to show me your face. The only answer was the pop from a burning log that sent up neon cinders. In the clay dirt next to his foot prints the Traveler used the butt of his staff to draw symbols. First he drew an eye, then a simple duck and then underneath, carefully crafted the outline of a desert jackal. He admired his own work. God, son and wild beast... said a voice The Traveler looked up to see a decorated legionnaire. In the firelight the Legionnaire looked made of bronze. He toyed with the pommel of his gladius with an air of supreme confidence. Hanging from his belt were metals signifying an absurd number of personal kills. You recognize the Pharos sacred glyphs. said the Traveler A clumsy irrational text, a reflection of Egyptian character. said the Legionnaire Then this message is for you, I dont know what it means replied the Traveler pointing to his glyphs. It is the secret trinity Said the Legionnaire as he ripped out his blade in a heartbeat to slash the eye symbolizing god , And I finished it for you, the eye of god is blind. The Traveler gripped his staff shocked by the nonchalance of this sacrilege even from a Roman. What do you want from me? Im a simple wanderer whos heart rejects the spilling of blood... What sweet red nectar gushes from the body of man, his agony music, his lost spirit a new beam holding the stars in the sky. Im here to claim you and to open your eyes. Listen... They call your name in the street, but you are betrayed. Jealous and traitorous men plan to kill you. However, you dont need to die. Join with me, listen to my teachings and the world will be your plaything. said the Legionnaire The Traveler had come through many strange and wonderful things on his road, been through many tests of his endurance, his life endangered countless times and he had known no fear. His face remained stoic, but in his guts a worm of doubt had found a place to tickle him. If this was a man he spoke to, he was a powerful dark man infested by some demon magic. The thing that shocked him most of all was he didnt know what to do. You are a sorcerer, servant of the ancient deceiver. You should know I wont be seduced by your evil! All your kind who has stepped in my path have been brought low by the light and majesty of the one true god. said the Traveler as he drew a circle around himself in the dirt. You know nothing of god. The great one sleeps and he must never wake lest he eat all the worlds again. Do you know the truth, vagabond? His power is beyond measure. The great one of which you so carelessly seek to wield like a thrown stone. He defecated the universe into the void. We are but a byproduct, waste to which he will someday return to swallow whole. Yet we must all love and worship with trembling knees... Do you know who I am now? asked the Legionnaire I know you are the burning shadow... You speak poison that is now rotten in my ears. Be gone from me and never return to haunt my steps! I cast you out, Satan! said The Traveler You are a well made tool, a credit to my genius. Call me Satan if you must but I prefer Luciferis Scipio... Ask yourself this, when you fall to your knees and whisper into folded fingers do you ever receive parley? How do you know it is the great one whom has worked the miracles that follow you? Once they called you Yoseph, in the streets you are known as Yeshua, son of God, messiah, prophet. You tell stories, and perform inexplicable acts even against your own will... Is it this magnanimous god that controls you? said the Legionnaire The Traveler fell to his knees shouting to the sky, Father do not test me in this way, have I not been true to your wishes? The Traveler lowered his head but refused to look again on the Devil. He could feel him still there, patiently waiting with his next sadistic attack on the core of his beliefs. Eventually without knowing it his eyes opened. Luciferis Scipio was kneeled at the edge of his circle holding a knife in one hand and a crystal ball in the other. Give me your hand. said the Legionnaire In his mind The Traveler refused, but watched as his hand extended out past his circle of dirt. The legionnaire dug his knife deep into the palm, blood overflowed the hole and dripped crimson life onto the crystal ball. The glass began to glow ruby light, The Traveler found that he was unable to look away. His vision left his skull, the perspective shifted. The bloody orb was pulling him in like a tapestry is unraveled by one lose string, then he was being re-spun as some other garment, elsewhere...
Posted on: Wed, 31 Dec 2014 22:58:26 +0000
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