Who was I?
I had been Jerek, the cowherd. I had lived and I had loved and I had died as Jerek. My resurrection had altered me, but I had still come from Jerek, reborn from him like a phoenix. Would a phoenix change when it was reborn? Would it suffer a crisis of identity?
I had nearly died a second time, when the fire goblin rescued me. And now that same goblin planned to kill me. I needed to change the game.
That's when I heard the first whisper.
"This is a harsh world, youngling. Would you rather not be killed after all?"
From deep in my chest I felt a sudden screaming panic - a terror unlike any I had ever felt. And then, an instant later, it was gone. Not dulled - gone. A part of myself peeled off and left me. I felt a clarity that had been missing since my fall in the river.
"What did you do?" I whispered.
"I killed," the voice whispered back. "That river spirit was needless baggage. He thought to use you for his own short-sighted ends."
"And what do you seek to use me for?" I asked.
"I am older than the river and its petty games. I don't want to adjust the balance of power. I want to overturn it. I want to remake the world."
"And with my help you can do it?"
"On the contrary," the voice whispered. "With my help, you will do it. And the new world will be born in your image. All you must do is accept my power. Become my proxy, and wreak my vengeance upon the world."
"I would have to kill?" I said. For the first time, Belinda seemed to notice my whispering to myself. She flew to the goblin's ear and began conversing with him, urgently, in hushed tones.
"Of course you would kill," the voice said. "You will kill a whole world. An entire existence will wither under your touch. Men will amass themselves to fight you, and women will scream and hide their children at your approach. That is the price."
I considered. The fire goblin was waving Belinda away as he would a mosquito. Try as he would, she could not attract his attention.
I thought of Amanda. What would she say if I turned into a killer? Could I have saved her from the butcher, with this kind of power?
"Of course you could," the voice whispered. "This is your world. You can destroy what you like, and save the rest. You may find little enough worth saving, however."
I looked at the trees, dark and laden with snow. I looked at the goblin, face full of hate, swatting at his most faithful companion. I thought of my parents.
"I accept," I whispered.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
An Epic Tale - 9. The Edge of the World
"The world is smaller than you might imagine," Belinda told me. She seemed apologetic, at least.
I had tried to run away - somehow, the thought that I might actually die had triggered a panic in me. So I ran, as hard and as fast as I could.
It wasn't fast enough. Belinda had made a sound, like the faraway ringing of a thousand tiny bells, and I had fallen.
Now I was trudging through the snow, bound to the goblin by a rope of light. Belinda had begun to tell me stories as we walked. I appreciated the gesture, even as I partly blamed her for my current predicament.
It was my own fault, really. Everyone I had ever met had used me to their own ends. Why should this goblin be any different? I should have set out to find the Hermit on my own. To get my answers on my own.
"From here on Earth, it looks like the world is flat, but if you could fly high enough, up as high as the stars, you would see that it's actually curved upward, like a bowl."
"More like a saddle," the goblin said. "I hear tell that in the North and South, it curves downward, and rush off the edge into the underworld."
"I wouldn't know," Belinda said wistfully. "I was a child when you captured me. I have never been outside the Western Woods."
"So you're a slave of this fire goblin?" I said.
"She was willing enough when I captured her," the goblin laughed.
"You promised me adventure! You said if I only joined your service, I would see all four corners of the earth. I would dance with dragons and feel the heat of the Eastern winds. All this and more, you promised me."
The goblin smiled. "All this and more you shall have, my sweet one, as soon as the War in the Woods is ended."
"This war has lasted for three hundred years!"
"And now at last it may end," the goblin said.
I felt a chill run deep into my bones.
"This boy has a piece of the river spirit inside him. We kill him, and we destroy that piece, drying up the river."
"Would that end the war?" Belinda asked.
"Not quite," the goblin admitted, "but it would certainly make things very, very interesting."
I had tried to run away - somehow, the thought that I might actually die had triggered a panic in me. So I ran, as hard and as fast as I could.
It wasn't fast enough. Belinda had made a sound, like the faraway ringing of a thousand tiny bells, and I had fallen.
Now I was trudging through the snow, bound to the goblin by a rope of light. Belinda had begun to tell me stories as we walked. I appreciated the gesture, even as I partly blamed her for my current predicament.
It was my own fault, really. Everyone I had ever met had used me to their own ends. Why should this goblin be any different? I should have set out to find the Hermit on my own. To get my answers on my own.
"From here on Earth, it looks like the world is flat, but if you could fly high enough, up as high as the stars, you would see that it's actually curved upward, like a bowl."
"More like a saddle," the goblin said. "I hear tell that in the North and South, it curves downward, and rush off the edge into the underworld."
"I wouldn't know," Belinda said wistfully. "I was a child when you captured me. I have never been outside the Western Woods."
"So you're a slave of this fire goblin?" I said.
"She was willing enough when I captured her," the goblin laughed.
"You promised me adventure! You said if I only joined your service, I would see all four corners of the earth. I would dance with dragons and feel the heat of the Eastern winds. All this and more, you promised me."
The goblin smiled. "All this and more you shall have, my sweet one, as soon as the War in the Woods is ended."
"This war has lasted for three hundred years!"
"And now at last it may end," the goblin said.
I felt a chill run deep into my bones.
"This boy has a piece of the river spirit inside him. We kill him, and we destroy that piece, drying up the river."
"Would that end the war?" Belinda asked.
"Not quite," the goblin admitted, "but it would certainly make things very, very interesting."
Friday, November 28, 2008
An Epic Tale - 8.The Fire Goblin And His Fairy
"I don't know what you were expecting," the half-man said. "This is a forest. Not much around to live in but trees.
"Yes, but - " I swallowed. "Did you have to make it so high?"
"Fire goblins have enemies. There's a lot more going on in the world than your kind has the courage to face."
I looked up. The oak tree was certainly tall, and the grass hut at the top would be hard to reach and easy to defend. I didn't even know if I could make it up.
"Is there a ladder, or something?"
"Not a climber?" the goblin smirked. "Don't worry. These trees would fling you from their branches the moment you tried. You won't be coming in. We're just here to get something."
The half-man rummaged in his backpack as I stood there, wondering what such a person could possibly have to get.
My life was now utterly outside my control, I reflected. I had intended to end it all this morning. Now I was wrapped up in something I barely even understood. Did my parents know there was a world like this, so close to the village? All they ever did was tend to the cows.
"A ha!" the half-man held up a small golden whistle and gave it two sharp notes.
"Belinda!" he shouted. "I've come home!"
At first, I thought nothing had happened. Then I saw it - a tiny flash of light, flickering and fluttering around the edges of the treetop canopy. It was no bigger than a mosquito.
The light swooped down to join us, and up close it was a pinpoint, so bright I had to avert my eyes. I heard it laughing at me, a tinkle of tiny bells in the wind.
"It's so precious!" the pinpoint said. It swooped and darted around me until my head spun. "Where did you get it?"
"Pack up your things," the half-man said. "The old wars have begun again, and this one's right at the center of it."
"Pack up?" It was just a ball of light, but somehow it still looked worried. "Where are we going?"
The half-man smiled grimly. "We're going to take this boy, and throw him off the edge of the world."
"Yes, but - " I swallowed. "Did you have to make it so high?"
"Fire goblins have enemies. There's a lot more going on in the world than your kind has the courage to face."
I looked up. The oak tree was certainly tall, and the grass hut at the top would be hard to reach and easy to defend. I didn't even know if I could make it up.
"Is there a ladder, or something?"
"Not a climber?" the goblin smirked. "Don't worry. These trees would fling you from their branches the moment you tried. You won't be coming in. We're just here to get something."
The half-man rummaged in his backpack as I stood there, wondering what such a person could possibly have to get.
My life was now utterly outside my control, I reflected. I had intended to end it all this morning. Now I was wrapped up in something I barely even understood. Did my parents know there was a world like this, so close to the village? All they ever did was tend to the cows.
"A ha!" the half-man held up a small golden whistle and gave it two sharp notes.
"Belinda!" he shouted. "I've come home!"
At first, I thought nothing had happened. Then I saw it - a tiny flash of light, flickering and fluttering around the edges of the treetop canopy. It was no bigger than a mosquito.
The light swooped down to join us, and up close it was a pinpoint, so bright I had to avert my eyes. I heard it laughing at me, a tinkle of tiny bells in the wind.
"It's so precious!" the pinpoint said. It swooped and darted around me until my head spun. "Where did you get it?"
"Pack up your things," the half-man said. "The old wars have begun again, and this one's right at the center of it."
"Pack up?" It was just a ball of light, but somehow it still looked worried. "Where are we going?"
The half-man smiled grimly. "We're going to take this boy, and throw him off the edge of the world."
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Not an Update, but Something
This is me, Josh. I've been taking a break on the Tale because I have to work on something important. Nione demands it. I'm sorry.
Instead I offer this: My own inane, stream-of-consciousness babble. I hope it pleases you.
The Overture
In opera and symphony, the overture is a well-understood part of the narrative formula. It's an encapsulation of the piece as a whole, a way to set the tone, a way to establish the major themes, and a way to foreshadow. The overture does what I like story elements to do - accomplishes many things at once.
So let's think about the overture in cinema. Unlike in music, the overture is rarely explicitly branded as such. But a quick search of my mental archives suggest that there are few, if any, great movies without one. Star Wars has its opening crawl, Raiders has its first mini-treasure. Jaws has one of the simplest and coolest overtures ever. Even The Saddest Music in the World, a crazy-man movie by crazy-man Guy Maddin, has an extensive overture in the form of a strange medicine man that the main character visits.
I think it's this beat that makes circular-structure movies so popular - No idea how to start your movie? Why not give away the end! Almost by default, then, most of the functions of the overture are fulfilled - the tone is set, plot events are (heavy-handedly) foreshadowed. The only thing we lose is the innate tension of wondering what will happen next - which, unfortunately, for many is the whole point of watching a movie in the first place.
Repeat after me: Secrets must be kept. If your audience knows everything that happens before, after, and during the time the story takes place, why would they keep watching? Even at the end, when everything is resolved into a tidy package, there has to be an open question: What will happen next?
That's why those painfully obvious "setting up the sequel" moments are so annoying to me. If I don't see Freddy come back, it's an open question whether they really killed him. If I see him, and he's okay, then there's no reason to consider the movie any further. No reason to watch it again.
Anyway. Overtures. Raising a question without implying an easy answer. They're important, and scary, and hard, and I think I just found mine while I was typing.
Thank you for listening.
I'll try to reward your patience soon.
-Josh
Instead I offer this: My own inane, stream-of-consciousness babble. I hope it pleases you.
The Overture
In opera and symphony, the overture is a well-understood part of the narrative formula. It's an encapsulation of the piece as a whole, a way to set the tone, a way to establish the major themes, and a way to foreshadow. The overture does what I like story elements to do - accomplishes many things at once.
So let's think about the overture in cinema. Unlike in music, the overture is rarely explicitly branded as such. But a quick search of my mental archives suggest that there are few, if any, great movies without one. Star Wars has its opening crawl, Raiders has its first mini-treasure. Jaws has one of the simplest and coolest overtures ever. Even The Saddest Music in the World, a crazy-man movie by crazy-man Guy Maddin, has an extensive overture in the form of a strange medicine man that the main character visits.
I think it's this beat that makes circular-structure movies so popular - No idea how to start your movie? Why not give away the end! Almost by default, then, most of the functions of the overture are fulfilled - the tone is set, plot events are (heavy-handedly) foreshadowed. The only thing we lose is the innate tension of wondering what will happen next - which, unfortunately, for many is the whole point of watching a movie in the first place.
Repeat after me: Secrets must be kept. If your audience knows everything that happens before, after, and during the time the story takes place, why would they keep watching? Even at the end, when everything is resolved into a tidy package, there has to be an open question: What will happen next?
That's why those painfully obvious "setting up the sequel" moments are so annoying to me. If I don't see Freddy come back, it's an open question whether they really killed him. If I see him, and he's okay, then there's no reason to consider the movie any further. No reason to watch it again.
Anyway. Overtures. Raising a question without implying an easy answer. They're important, and scary, and hard, and I think I just found mine while I was typing.
Thank you for listening.
I'll try to reward your patience soon.
-Josh
Monday, September 22, 2008
An Announcement
From now on, An Epic Tale shall be updated weekly, on Sundays. This way, my life and yours can better achieve some semblance of order, and perhaps over time I can even build up an audience.
Plus, this way I can spend the time that others spend in church doing something that actually benefits my soul.
So tell your friends - An Epic Tale, updated weekly. Same Epic-time, same Epic-channel.
Plus, this way I can spend the time that others spend in church doing something that actually benefits my soul.
So tell your friends - An Epic Tale, updated weekly. Same Epic-time, same Epic-channel.
Sunday, September 14, 2008
An Epic Tale - 7. The Half-Man
About a mile further on from the stream, it began to snow - soft, gentle flurries that caressed my cheeks like frozen kisses. I moved on, inconsiderate of the present in my newfound obsession with the past.
It seemed to me that I was dreaming - or that everything up to that moment had been a dream. Once-cherished memories had begun to squirm and shift away from my mind's eye, the details as vague as my future. The streets of Riverbend disappeared from my mental catalogue - and not just the cartography. I strained to recall what simple sensations I could - the smell of fresh bread, the chirping of crickets, the splash of water buckets emptied onto cobblestone streets.
With a shock I realized I had forgotten my mother's face.
I was Jerek no more. The farm boy was well and truly dead. Who I was now - that was an open question.
The old man had remade me. But in whose image? I had no idea, and even less idea if I could kill this Hermit, whoever he was. Wherever he was. To my chagrin I realized there was no way to tell which way I should be going - or even, in the darkness, which way I should be going.
I stopped moving. The hopelessness of my situation had just begun to dawn on me. I was alone, miles from anywhere. I had no food, no money, no possessions of any kind. Even if I found the other side of this forest, there was nowhere I could go. I had started this trip intending to kill myself, and it looked as though I would fully and finally succeed.
The snow was falling harder.
I sat down at the base of an old oak tree and leaned against it. I was exhausted. My failures had been building for years now, I realized. I hadn't understood Amanda, or saved her when she needed me most. I hadn't brought the butcher to justice. I hadn't even killed myself right. It would be easier, I realized, as I settled deeper into the old oak's rooty embrace, never to try anything at all.
I closed my eyes. The snow fell hard all around me, big, fat, yawning flakes. Each one made a tiny puff in the still air as it landed around me. It was soothing. Still. Quiet. The way I liked my winter nights.
I yawned. There would be no going back if I closed my eyes. By the time I woke up, the snow would have buried me alive.
I closed my eyes.
In my dream, I was floating on a bed of feathers. The feathers carried me up, high, into the clouds. Then it turned cold. I froze, and the feathers became snow. I fell, as a snowflake, and in every other snowflake I could see the face of someone I had disappointed. Chilled and hungry, I reached the ground. My clothes melted away and the snow became laughter - vicious, taunting, jeering, mocking laughter that burned at me like acid.
And I woke up, and I was still burning.
The laughter hadn't stopped either, but now it was of a more piercing, high-pitched, maniacal variety. I opened my eyes to the most terrifying sight I had ever beheld.
It was a man - or something like a man. He was angular, short and scaly - what I could see of him, that is. My view was obscured by his thick fur coat and the massive fireball heading straight for me.
I yelped. The strange half-man took no notice. The flames, I realized, were part of a stream being blasted out of his coat by some infernal mechanism.
"Hold still!" he shouted as I cringed from the blast. "You've still got some on you!"
"Some what?" I yelled back, taking a big gulp of hot air that scorched my chest in the process.
"Snow!" barked the half-man, and he proceeded to hose me down with flaming gases.
I was too busy on my knees coughing to point out to him that I knew the snow was there, and I preferred it to a crazed demonic midget with a penchant for burning things.
"You're attracting the most Worry Snow I've ever seen in one place," the half-man said. "We've got to get you inside. Come with me."
"But I don't -"
"You're coming," he said, so authoritatively that I was up and walking before I knew it.
"Where are we going?" I asked, when it occurred to me.
"That's the question, isn't it?" the half-man mused. "Can we ever really know where we're going? Arguably, random chance plays a greater role in our destinies than any action we ourselves might take."
"I meant, where are you taking me?"
"Ah! I misunderstood."
The half-man was silent. I did not ask again.
It seemed to me that I was dreaming - or that everything up to that moment had been a dream. Once-cherished memories had begun to squirm and shift away from my mind's eye, the details as vague as my future. The streets of Riverbend disappeared from my mental catalogue - and not just the cartography. I strained to recall what simple sensations I could - the smell of fresh bread, the chirping of crickets, the splash of water buckets emptied onto cobblestone streets.
With a shock I realized I had forgotten my mother's face.
I was Jerek no more. The farm boy was well and truly dead. Who I was now - that was an open question.
The old man had remade me. But in whose image? I had no idea, and even less idea if I could kill this Hermit, whoever he was. Wherever he was. To my chagrin I realized there was no way to tell which way I should be going - or even, in the darkness, which way I should be going.
I stopped moving. The hopelessness of my situation had just begun to dawn on me. I was alone, miles from anywhere. I had no food, no money, no possessions of any kind. Even if I found the other side of this forest, there was nowhere I could go. I had started this trip intending to kill myself, and it looked as though I would fully and finally succeed.
The snow was falling harder.
I sat down at the base of an old oak tree and leaned against it. I was exhausted. My failures had been building for years now, I realized. I hadn't understood Amanda, or saved her when she needed me most. I hadn't brought the butcher to justice. I hadn't even killed myself right. It would be easier, I realized, as I settled deeper into the old oak's rooty embrace, never to try anything at all.
I closed my eyes. The snow fell hard all around me, big, fat, yawning flakes. Each one made a tiny puff in the still air as it landed around me. It was soothing. Still. Quiet. The way I liked my winter nights.
I yawned. There would be no going back if I closed my eyes. By the time I woke up, the snow would have buried me alive.
I closed my eyes.
In my dream, I was floating on a bed of feathers. The feathers carried me up, high, into the clouds. Then it turned cold. I froze, and the feathers became snow. I fell, as a snowflake, and in every other snowflake I could see the face of someone I had disappointed. Chilled and hungry, I reached the ground. My clothes melted away and the snow became laughter - vicious, taunting, jeering, mocking laughter that burned at me like acid.
And I woke up, and I was still burning.
The laughter hadn't stopped either, but now it was of a more piercing, high-pitched, maniacal variety. I opened my eyes to the most terrifying sight I had ever beheld.
It was a man - or something like a man. He was angular, short and scaly - what I could see of him, that is. My view was obscured by his thick fur coat and the massive fireball heading straight for me.
I yelped. The strange half-man took no notice. The flames, I realized, were part of a stream being blasted out of his coat by some infernal mechanism.
"Hold still!" he shouted as I cringed from the blast. "You've still got some on you!"
"Some what?" I yelled back, taking a big gulp of hot air that scorched my chest in the process.
"Snow!" barked the half-man, and he proceeded to hose me down with flaming gases.
I was too busy on my knees coughing to point out to him that I knew the snow was there, and I preferred it to a crazed demonic midget with a penchant for burning things.
"You're attracting the most Worry Snow I've ever seen in one place," the half-man said. "We've got to get you inside. Come with me."
"But I don't -"
"You're coming," he said, so authoritatively that I was up and walking before I knew it.
"Where are we going?" I asked, when it occurred to me.
"That's the question, isn't it?" the half-man mused. "Can we ever really know where we're going? Arguably, random chance plays a greater role in our destinies than any action we ourselves might take."
"I meant, where are you taking me?"
"Ah! I misunderstood."
The half-man was silent. I did not ask again.
Sunday, September 7, 2008
An Epic Tale - 6. The Journey
I stood for a moment, in front of the raging coldness of the river, all of nature frozen and still around me.
I could go back, I thought. Slip into my warm bed, pretend nothing had changed. The cows would still be there in the morning.
Jerek's parents would say nothing to me; they had said nothing to Jerek for a long time. I could go for a long time with no one the wiser. Perhaps my whole life.
But I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to assume someone else's life, take it over as though it were still my own. And I somehow hated the idea of townsfolk looking at me and seeing the same old farm boy.
No, I decided; I would press on.
And a good thing too, as I realized I was stuck on the opposite end of the stream from my footprints leading home. Any return journey would require miles of trudging upstream until I found a safe place to cross.
That settled it; there was no going back. Not now, not ever.
I could go back, I thought. Slip into my warm bed, pretend nothing had changed. The cows would still be there in the morning.
Jerek's parents would say nothing to me; they had said nothing to Jerek for a long time. I could go for a long time with no one the wiser. Perhaps my whole life.
But I didn't want to do that. I didn't want to assume someone else's life, take it over as though it were still my own. And I somehow hated the idea of townsfolk looking at me and seeing the same old farm boy.
No, I decided; I would press on.
And a good thing too, as I realized I was stuck on the opposite end of the stream from my footprints leading home. Any return journey would require miles of trudging upstream until I found a safe place to cross.
That settled it; there was no going back. Not now, not ever.
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