A Story

Let me tell you a story.

There was once a village. It was self sufficient. It survived comfortably on trade and for the various crafts which the village offered to the world at large. Every night in this village, an old man, the enlightened leader of the village, gathers his folk around the village center for his story-telling. It was a wondrous affair. something the folk looked forward to every day.

The old man clears his throat. And speaks. A voice steeped in history, blended by experience.

"There was once a small and rich kingdom, Xarnia. It was surrounded by other kingdoms which were envious of its riches. So these other kingdoms always sent spies to destabilise Xarnia. To cause its downfall. One of these spies was Nyte. He had a simple goal. To win the heart of Xarnia's sole heir-apparent, Princess Aeryie. And through this deception of the heart, gain the heart of Xarnia.

So Nyte worked his charms. First, he became famous in Xarnia's social circles. An ounce of gold here, a hidden kiss there, he won over many admirers. Here was a man of talent, they said. And so, like a circling serpent, Nyte's connections brought him to the Court. And then to his prize, Aeryie herself. But Aeryie had a gift. She can see through deceptions as a conoisseur sees that deceiving solitaire glittering amidst its truer brethren.

So Nyte had a problem and changed his deceitful plan. He will still get the heart of Xarnia. But now he worked on the Court, he worked on the people and most loquaciously, he worked on the King. The people, the Court and the King loved Aeryie dearly. But they worried for her solitude. They wished a companion for Aeryie. it was the way of tales, a lovely Princess, an ideal Prince and the kingdom will prosper.

But Aeryie remained cold to Nyte. She alone saw the deceit in Nyte's love. She tried to speak. But her words were silenced by the deafness of an enamoured King, court and people.

Aeryie had her secret but doomed love. An Elf, Daemon. An Other kind. So he enlisted the help of the magickal creatures. The faeries, the imps, the ogres. In answer to his call, the magicked left signs throughout the Kingdom. Signs of the deft deceits of Nyte. His slippery lies, his nefarious webs. But they failed still. Rejected as the supernatural. Creatures to be distrusted. And the silver tongued Nyte whispered about Daemon. Magicking the Princess. A sinister design on Xarnia by this Other.

And so the King set his soldiers into the forests. Hunting the helpless elves down. And so Daemon was killed in a valiant battle. And The Princess, consigned to her chambers, to recuperate. And despite her protests, Aeryie suffered the fate of most women in History. Her fate was decided for her. The day for the royal wedding with Nyte was set.

And fully alone now was Aeryie. She saw the inevitability of her future, Xarnia's future. Pacing in her room, high in the tower, she pondered. Outside a gale was apporaching over the sea. And she chose freedom beyond enslavement. As the first drops of rain fell, so she fell too, leaving behind a chamber of broken hopes and emptied desires.

The kingdom grieved. None grieved louder than the silver tongue. None wept more than Nyte. In the kingdom's grief, Nyte became the surrogate of their tears, the silhouette of their shadows.

And so Nyte became the king's favourite. And in time Xarnia was no more but another relic in the tragedy of History."

Murmurs from the entranced villagers. Some moist eyes. A perceptible shake of the head. A gentle sigh at this tragedy and the danger of the silver tongued. The old man sat on his chair, silhouetted by the dying embers of the village fire. the villagers trudge off. Time to sleep. Tomorrow is another day of work. Another story.

There is a point to this entry. Sparked by Parkaboy's comments in an earlier entry. But it will have to wait while I solve a problem at work : getting the opening match of the World Cup into a disaster zone.

Quote of the Day --

"Given the complete disenchantment of the world, art that is beyond the alternative of lightheartedness and seriousness may be as much a cipher of reconciliation as a cipher of horror." --Theodor W. Adorno