~Lord Alfred Tennyson, ‘Crossing the Bar’~
Wisp
The light danced tantalizingly in the distance and like one enthralled, Alic followed dazedly after. The golden blue of twilight deepened into the diamond spattered black of full night and ever the laughing, dancing azure light drew him on, determined to find the cause of its joy. The squelching protest of the mud and its icy fingers creeping into his boots suddenly broke the spell, as Alic awoke to find himself knee deep in a hopeless mire and still sinking. The more he struggled, the faster his descent; his mind panicked but he forced his body to stillness, hoping to postpone the inevitable long enough for some miracle to happen. The light, like some pixie’s laugh, flitted back to where its pursuer struggled in the fen, hovering four paces from the trapped boy, its light casting the bog into eerie patterns of stark light and deep shadow. The boy’s plight seemed of little concern to the bobbing luminescence, and if anything, its weaving and darting seemed to intensify in eagerness rather than alarm. It hovered there in anticipation, like some carrion bird waiting to descend upon his carcass. He smiled wryly, at least the bog would consume him utterly, leaving no bones for such scavengers to pick.
Time passed in excruciating slowness as the mire swallowed its victim alive. Nothing changed but how deep Alic lay in the mud, now up to his chest and impatient for his inevitable end, if only to end the suspense and despair that now encompassed him. He scoffed at the quivering light, “is this what you intended? What gain can it be to you? Can you do nothing but dance in anticipation at such an end?”
A voice answered, but not one the boy expected, this was a scratchy, feminine sound, and not anything like what he had anticipated from such an ethereal source, but then it was not the light that had spoken, said she, “the wisp can do nothing you fool! But it can gain much by luring you to your death, at least if you will let it. Death need not be all your future.”
The boy, now up to his neck, turned his head as much as the mire would allow and gasped in astonishment to see the source of the voice. A woman older than time itself, or so it seemed, with lank coarse hair hanging in sheets like so many lichens and more wrinkles than face, stood beside him with a look of utter delight and contempt on her face, as if she enjoyed the spectacle before her. Said he, “what do you mean?”
She laughed cruelly, “it is simple. Accept my offer and be spared your imminent demise, else you can vanish from living memory and allow this silly wisp to reap its reward.” The light seemed to quiver in agitation as she spoke, uneasy about the offer she was about to make, which only increased Alic’s interest. She continued, “you must simply agree to cede your life, your soul, your being to me. You will lose it soon enough anyway, so what have you to lose?” The wisp became frenetic as she spoke, as if urging the boy not to listen to the witch, but whether in terror at what the boy’s fate might be should he accept or in fear of losing whatever it gained via his death, Alic did not know.
Now up to his chin, Alic gasped out in terror, “what does this deal avail me?”
She cackled harshly, “you have little time if you wish to thwart fate, which is your sole reward. Are we agreed?”
The light was turning spirals of agony, but with no time remaining, Alic gurgled out, the mud now in his mouth, “anything witch, let your deal be struck!”
Her laugh was terrifying in its delight, even as he spoke the words, he felt his physical form grow cold as death and felt it sucked forever beneath the mire, yet whatever was himself, did not follow his physical shell into eternal night. Instead he hovered, another will-o-the-wisp, a hand’s-breadth above the fen. The new wisp shuddered in horror as the crone’s laugh continued to echo through the miry hollow. The light had no eyes per say, but it could see quite well in the whelming gloom, noticing vaguely that the fell woman appeared slightly younger, or at least less worn.
She turned dancing eyes that held no mirth upon the terrified wisp, said she in grim amusement, “congratulations wretch! You have traded an honest death for slavery in perpetuity; you have become a nonentity, a thing in the world but not of it; neither living nor dead. Never at rest, always alone! Your youth and vitality have I sapped to extend my own life and now you can do naught but my will, slave that you are. A pity you can do nothing but dance and flit about, which limits your usefulness quite dreadfully. How can you be free of this wretched state? You have cheated death and only thereby may you be freed: either submit willingly to your own or lure some fool to his and hope I do not find him first, as was the case with you.” She laughed dreadfully and said with scorn, “flit off until I call for you. Shoo!” The two lights fled in terror from her presence but her hateful laughter pursued them relentlessly into the darkness.
They quivered in terror for a few moments after they had stayed their flight in some hidden dell of the boggy wood and one faced the other, whether enemies or fellow victims, their dread of the witch and their grim fate forced them into uneasy companionship. They could not speak in words but one could somehow feel the meaning of the other. The wisp that was Alic turned on its fellow with a wrath built of horror, despair, fear, and dread. The poor creature shuddered before his fury and asked if Alic would not now act the same to free himself from this fate? His fury suddenly abated in perplexed horror, would he? Could he do anything but? Could he face his own death or forever abide in this quivering form? The price of his freedom was death, his own or someone else’s; he had already agreed to this reprehensible bargain to avoid his own. It must be another’s blood, else all was lost. He turned to the other, understanding at last accomplished between them.
But another uneasy thought occurred to him, would it truly be life that was salvaged from the situation or something worse? The witch was too cunning and fond of cruelty to allow such a seemingly easy escape from her clutches, look what this wretched bargain had cost, would not deepening the evil make it worse? Alic looked to the other, which seemed never to have considered the possibility and they both shuddered. What was to be done? A small voice whispered in their hearts, but they staunchly ignored its tremulous wails and pondered the matter further, what was the harm in trying? They could always abandon the quest if the cost became too dear, perhaps there was no further treachery in the mix and they could be truly free! They knew it to be a thin facade and a lie through and through, but it was a far better matter to contemplate than the alternatives so they clung to it with all their beings. But how to accomplish it? The other light danced excitedly and Alic followed eagerly after, wondering what it intended.
Alic felt all of time and space shifting around them, as if such matters were of little consequence to beings no longer trapped within a mortal shell, yet Alic also felt a blotch or a smudge on the whole ethereal landscape about him, as if he were an intruder, an interloper, an onlooker who did not belong and had no part in the things around him. The mortal world was no longer his home but he had denied whatever it was that came after, instead determining to linger amidst the dust and shadows of what had been rather than embracing what should be yet finding no part in either. He felt a dove lost over a vast and trackless sea, with no place to alight and no sign of a resting place on all the watery horizon. He turned his contemplations from these grim thoughts and focused outward, on whatever it was his companion intended.
It was daylight, and the wisps were not even visible in the terrible light of the sun. They trembled in that dreadful glare, being now creatures of the shadows and dusk, and sought refuge from the awful light. They hovered under the eves of the stable in the courtyard of some great castle and Alic quivered in interest as his companion made his intentions known. A pair of royal brothers lived in this place, dear friends from boyhood and now upon the brink of manhood, if the pair could be provoked into a duel through jealousy either for the crown or the hand of some fair maid, then perhaps the cost of their freedom could be met. The wisps could whisper unseen into the thoughts of these young men and perhaps per
suade them to act more rashly than they otherwise might. Alic took the elder while his companion ghosted after the other. At first he flinched back from the price another must pay for his own freedom, but he consoled himself in knowing he would be freeing his companion likewise and he found a grim delight in whispering incendiary half truths into the mind of the vulnerable young prince, giving actions, words, and looks meanings they did not contain. This of course was what the witch had intended from the first, delighting as she did in death, pain, and chaos; they were more truly her slaves in this than if she had directed them to do it.
As the days passed, the friendship between the brothers grew cold and animosity festered between them. The elder feared the younger was after his crown and the younger that his brother had turned a fond eye upon his beloved. The court, their family, and the servants watched in growing dread as the fires of hatred and jealousy roared to life and all knew the only outcome could be tragedy for one or both. One grim evening, without a word, both came to a cold agreement that all should be decided this night, for good or for ill. They took their swords, mounted their horses, and rode silently into the surrounding forest. Their mother, watching with tear filled eyes from an upper window, said a silent prayer that her sons might somehow be spared this doom, one at the hand of the other.
The wisps ghosted after the grim princes, anticipating their own freedom at last! For months had they whispered and suggested and this night would see the fulfillment of all their plans. ‘But at what cost?’ came the gentle whisper of a vagrant breeze. ‘What price must another pay?’ mocked the stars over head. ‘Would this be true freedom or slavery of a worse sort?’ echoed a brook as they passed. A cricket sang far too merrily, ‘how is life to come of death?’ The wisps grew uneasy as their own hearts cried out in horror at what they were about to do. But the only alternative was their own deaths. ‘Yes,’ rustled the leaves overhead, ‘but was not death an inevitable part of life? Would they rather be as the hag, existing forever upon stolen life and joy though never truly living?’
The princes drew rein, dismounted, drew their swords, and turned to face one another, hate and rage glowing in their fierce young eyes. Wait! Screamed that once poisonous voice in each young mind, is this not your brother, once your best friend? Has it truly come to this? Lies, all lies, and nothing more! Hesitation replaced wrath, perplexity scorn. Two sets of wondering eyes each sought the other and swords were thrown down in disgust and horror at what might have been. The brothers ran to each other and poured out their broken hearts, one atop the other. Each smiled ruefully and tried to begin again. They turned away from the clearing and walked away from the relieved wisps, horrified at what they might have wrought. Then they trembled in utter terror as the hag appeared in their midst with a delighted cackle, “what a pity you lost your nerve at the last, it might have been wonderful, but alas, what is to be expected from such weak and pitiful cowards who would sell their souls to spare their lives?”
She squawked in indignation as her wisps exchanged a meaningful thought and then one after the other winked out of existence. Alic found himself again an occupant of his mortal shell, at least for the moment it took him to gasp back to life, inhale a lungful of mud, and succumb to the fate that should have befallen him months ago. The darkness seized him instantly but a bright, dancing light called him out of the shadows at last.
On Bad Poetry, An Example:
It seems to me,
That poetry
Must always rhyme
and be in time.
For you see,
Bad poetry,
Is some thing,
Of a rum thing
That anyone can do,
which is all too true.
Like this grand verse,
Could be far worse
If it went on,
Forever, anon.
But, rejoice my friend,
This is the end!
Over the Hills and Far Away Page 28