Hoarse and bitter Law demanded
"Justice, why I am I denied?
I am dying of my love."
The window opened. Justice cried
"Every time you say you love me
stay with me a while and then
back you crawl to Commerce." Justice
slammed the window shut again.
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The Bird and the Two Trees
Once upon a time there was an island covered in trees. One day a young tree said to another, older and wiser, who stood beside it
"O my neighbor, I have listened to the chatter of the birds in my branches. They say that we are short, whereas the trees of other islands are tall."
"O my neighbor," replied the old tree, "if there be two trees beside one another, and if one tree be taller and the other shorter, then the taller will receive most of the good sunlight and the rain. Therefore the shorter tree will strive to grow higher, lest it die in the shadows. Mayhap it will then be the taller, and its overtaken fellow must strive to grow higher still, and so on. Thus the trees, for fear of death, will spend all their energy growing as tall as possible. Yet none will gain an advantage over its equally monomaniacal cousins. Knowing this, our ancestors wisely agreed that none would grow higher than the other." At this answer the young tree was satisfied.
After a time the young tree asked its neighbor another question.
"O branch of my roots, I have listened further to the birds. They say that we speak, and listen, and think upon what we hear, whereas the trees of other islands are mute and deaf, and mindless."
"O branch of my roots," replied the old and wise tree, "you will recall that the trees of other islands spend their entire energy growing as tall as they can. Thus they have none to spare for the cultivation of thought. Whereas we, growing only so high and no further, have ample to spare." At this answer the young tree was satisfied.
After a time a bird spoke to the two trees.
"O bearers of my nests," said the bird, "having heard your speech, I discern a paradox therein. You say that your ancestors gained wisdom through not growing so high. Yet they agreed not to grow due to their greater wisdom. How may two things each precede the other?"
"O dweller in my leaves," replied the old tree, "how may they not? There is no tree that did not come from an acorn. Nor is there an acorn that did not come from a tree." At this answer the bird was not satisfied.
"Yet I may not set out in flight after I arrive. Nor may I eat the fruit before I have taken it, nor defecate it before it is eaten." This counter-argument the young tree found absurd, and provoked it to respond.
"One wave is not the sea," it said, "and the wave may crash, yet the waves are without end."
"The fish of the deep ocean could not imagine an edge to the sea," replied the bird, "yet there is the beach. The mayfly could not imagine an end to the day, yet we shall see the sunset."
Thus their argument went, with the trees declaring the bird's arguments absurd and immaterial, and the bird doing likewise to those of the trees. The language of trees and birds has been forgotten, and thus none may say how it ended. Or perchance the trees were right, and it did not end, nor did it begin, but birds have ever argued thus with trees, and are arguing still.
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Monsters
Once every century, representatives of the various kindred of monsters meet in a certain graveyard. In the year 20__ the mood of the assembly was one of sadness and defeat.
"These are grim days," the Werewolf lamented. "No one even thinks about us any more, let alone finds us terrifying."
"Things are worse for us," said the Vampire. "Everyone knows who we are--we are mascots for breakfast cereal, puppets who teach children to count, objects of lust for young girls."
The Ghost sighed.
"At least they lust after you because they find you a bit frightening. Have you seen that TV show where the psychic talks to people's dead relatives? We're comforting."
"You guys all have it tough," said the Wendigo. "but people know what you are."
The last member of the group looked confused.
"I'm really sorry to hear that everybody. I'm quite surprised too. People seem to be just as scared of us as they always were," said the Foreigner.
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The Sailor
When I was much younger I longed for the sea
and never once wondered if she longed for me.
The captains and kings of the world all agree
that death is the lot of the sailor.
The sea is a wine that's too heady for Man.
I thought I could take it but nobody can
and well I recall that my miseries began
with the stories and songs of the sailors.
I heard all their stories and hung on their claims
that men are born free but are put into chains.
Now they're all long gone and the ocean remains
and death is the lot of the sailor.
The land may be bitter and barren and stark
but none who pass over it leave it unmarked.
The sea has no trails and her depths are all dark
and no one remembers the sailor.
When I was much younger I longed for the sea
and never once wondered if she longed for me.
Indifferent, uncaring, immortal and free:
such is the love of the sailor.
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The Prince and the Sky-Maiden
Once upon a time, long ago, there was a crone named Dokka. Dokka was the cleverest crone that ever there was. If a woman who was barren went to her, why by the time Dokka got through with her that woman would lie with her husband in the night and have ten strong babies by morning. A pregnant woman could go to her, and just by looking Dokka could say if her baby was going to be healthy or sick. If there was a thing she couldn't do, I'm sure I've never heard of it.
But Dokka was so clever that she saw a great danger coming, which no one else could see--or if they could see, they certainly didn't know what to do about it. It was a great evil, with no shape and no sound, and if it had a name only Dokka knew it. It had more power than anyone, even Dokka herself. It wanted only to kill every man, woman and child on the earth, and those it did not kill it wanted to turn into monsters.
At last Dokka told her grand-daughter, whose name was Gloria, to come to her house. She cast a spell on Gloria, so that every time she awoke she would be awake a day, yet every time she went to sleep she would sleep for a hundred years. Then she put Gloria in a tower in the middle of a great forest, as high as the sky, and bid her sleep. Then she set soldiers to guard the tower, who never died. She said to these guards that they must not let anyone in the tower, other than a true-born man. Last of all she set a talking stone at the base of the tower, which would tell anyone what lay within. Last of all, Dokka herself drank poison, so that the great evil could not turn her into a monster.
Now the evil came to the earth, and worked its will. Everyone it could kill it killed, and those it did not kill it turned into monsters. But Gloria slept in her high tower, and she never knew the evil had come, and it never saw her. At last there was no-one on the earth, other than monsters, and the evil went away. For years and years there were only monsters, until at last some true-born men and women came out of the ground. But Gloria slept on, only waking up for one day every hundred years, and the stone warned the monsters not to enter. And those who didn't listen? Well, you may be sure that the guards chopped them up.
One day, many centuries later, a prince was riding through the forest. And what do you think--he came to the tower, and the talking stone.
"Now stone, tell me what lies within this tower?" said the prince.
"Now prince, Gloria lies within. She is more beautiful than any maiden you have seen, and her hair is as golden a
s the sun," said the talking stone.
"But what do you mean, 'as golden as the sun'?" the prince replied.
"Well now prince, many centuries ago the sun was gold. And that is why these times were called the Golden Age," the stone said.
The prince was greatly taken with the idea of a golden sun, and of a beautiful maiden with hair the same color. So he asked the stone if he could go inside. But the stone told him, "Only a true-born man may go within."
"Again, what do you mean?" the prince cried angrily. "I am indeed a true-born man, and a prince at that!" But the stone was silent.
Now the prince was as angry as if he'd sat on a hundred thistles. But he was no fool, this prince, and he knew that anyone who could build a tower that high and set a talking stone at the bottom, that wasn't someone you could just beat by running at them with your sword. So the prince sat at the base of the tower, deep in thought. Now by chance, Gloria had woken up from her hundred-year sleep that very morning. She was looking out of her tower, down at the clouds, and feeling pretty lonely up there all by herself. Just then she heard the prince, talking to himself about one plan and another to get into the tower.
"Oh, who is down there?" Gloria shouted down.
"A prince of this land," said the prince.
"Ho now prince, why don't you come up here? I'm so lonely," said Gloria.
"Well now I would," said the prince, "but this stone down here tells me I can't come in, for not being a true-born man."
"I know!" said Gloria. "Why don't I send down a lock of my hair? You show that to the guards, and they'll think you're a true-born man."
The prince thought this was a fine idea. So Gloria cut off some of her hair, and threw it down, through the clouds, and down to the prince. And the prince saw this hair, which was like gold, and he thought that if her hair was this beautiful then Gloria herself must be the most beautiful woman in the world.
So the prince went into the tower, and he saw the never-dying guards. But he just held up a fistful of Gloria's hair, and they let him go right on through. Up, up and up went the prince, higher than the birds, higher than the clouds, high as the sun almost. And at last he came to Gloria's room. He opened the door, and when he saw her...
Oh! She was so ugly. Both her middle limbs were missing. There was no hair on her body at all--and yet hair covered her head! The prince realised where the lock of hair he held had come from. He was so disgusted he couldn't even breathe.
"Don't you come near me!" he said, and he was so sick he didn't want to live any more. He jumped right out of the tower! Down he went, down past the clouds and the birds, and at last he landed in a thorn-bush, and that bush scratched out his eyes, and he was blind.
Now Gloria was scared that the only person she'd ever seen would die. So she ran all the way down the stairs, and there he saw the prince, all bloody and blind.
"Oh woe is me! No one's going to want me with no eyes! I won't even be able to find food for myself!" the prince said. But Gloria replied,
"Well now, you were damn rude to me prince. But I guess I don't want you die." So Gloria gathered berries and mushrooms for the prince to eat.
The prince stayed with Gloria. And since he couldn't see her, it didn't matter that she was so ugly. And as for Gloria, she'd never seen anyone else. So after a while they got married, and they had children. And that's where we all come from; you and I, and everyone else, and all the true-born men and women that ever have been and ever will be. So I guess that shows that Dokka was the cleverest crone that ever there was, and that even great evils will be beaten in the end.
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The New Death
Death was enjoying a cigarette and some powdered baby formula ('more pure than mother's milk!') when the phone rang.
"Death speaking. Oh, hi Pestilence. How's your cold?"
"It's going great, thanks. It's turned into pneumonia."
"How's everyone?"
"Oh," Pestilence gave a wet, rattling sigh. "The usual. War cooked a big bunch of civilians for Famine, but Famine was all like 'I'm on a diet'. So of course War had to have a big fight about it. Luckily War hasn't been around much. His brother Commerce is visiting. Anyway, I rang to tell you that a new Death is coming to Earth."
"What? How come?"
"Aliens have landed."
Death grinned in annoyance. It was the nature of things that each thinking species must have its own Death. It would be confusing for the deceased if he visited souls who had no idea what a scythe was, and who could not recognize a human skeleton.
"Ah man. Thanks for letting me know. Anyway look, I've gotta go. I'm collecting Robert McNamara's soul."
"Really? I didn't think he was due for years."
"There's a new refer-a-friend program; each thousand people gets you a discount."
The alien Death arrived a few days later. It appeared as a floating series of equations which proved the inevitability of increasing entropy in a closed system.
"My mortals do not anthropomorphize death," it explained. Death would have raised an eyebrow.
"There may be some residual superstition," it conceded.
"I thought you'd be a bug or something."
"A bug? My mortals do not resemble the insects of your planet."
"Sorry. I hope that wasn't racist. This science stuff is just so overwhelming you know? Like, we have aliens--real aliens, right next to normal stuff like shopping malls and the secret vampire world government. Anyway, do you have...um, a ray-gun?" Death indicated his scythe.
"Your agricultural implement? I understood that humans had invented the combine harvester."
"It's more of a symbol. You know, to strike fear into the hearts of the dying?"
"My mortals do not fear dying."
"Oh, wow. You poor thing." Death was genuinely moved.
Over the next few months the Death of Earth encouraged the alien Death to become more frightening. He showed it the finest Iron Maiden posters for inspiration.
"Try and make your voice deeper," he suggested. "And maybe laugh a bit. That's frightening for humans. Although you shouldn't tell jokes; I'm not really sure why one and not the other, just trust me. But don't go totally copying me OK? In the 80s I had this guy who used to follow me around called Skeletor...anyway, just get your own style."
The alien Death gradually learned the ways of Earth. Although it did not take much of Death's advice, it seemed to warm to Death himself.
"Death of humans, there is something I must tell you," said the alien Death after several months.
"OK, what?"
"Since coming to your planet I have learned much about your customs and outlook. I owe this new knowledge to you. I feel that we have entered into the human relationship of friendship. However, my feelings have developed further. In short, I have come to feel towards you the emotion that humans call...love."
"Well, I don't call it love," Death replied. "I call it 'till I do you part'. Ha ha, I totally say that every time I come for someone who's been married for like 50 years. Sorry, I'm babbling. But usually the people who fall in love with me are either samurai or something, or they're fifteen year olds who write about me in their poetry journal. Woo, it's hot in here huh?"
"I have decided to adopt a form that will be more pleasing to you."
"Look, I don't care what you look like, I...oh." He had no breath to be taken away, no heart to skip a beat.
"Oh," Death said again. "You look like a cartoon of Elvira drawn by Tim Burton. I...I haven't seen anything that beautiful since the siege of Stalingrad. Oh man...maybe I'm thinking with a part that I don't actually have, but..." Then there were no words, and no sounds save sighs, and the clack of bone sliding against bone.
It was a great blasphemy that a Death, let alone two, should enter into that which is the opposite of death. It would be like a dryad getting into carpentry, or a satyr wanting to get to know you first. Therefore the two beings agreed to keep their affair secret. They f
ell ever more deeply in love. They planned to unlive together. The alien Death would have to commute back to her home planet, but that was a small price to pay, and she would be going back and forth anyway. They even talked about getting married and killing some children. Alas, workplace romances are always more obvious than the lovers think. The gods soon learned of their treachery, and summoned them.
"Thy insolence is beyond measure!" thundered one of the gods.
"Repent, and do penance!" another demanded. The two Deaths trembled, but
"We will not," was their reply.
"This being so, we put a great doom upon you. Since we cannot sentence you to death until new Deaths are trained to replace you, we pronounce the next harshest sentence."
"You mean-"
"Yes. We sentence you to life."
That is why, if you see a skinny couple who wear all black even in the summer, who have staring eyes and constant grins, and who you suspect might be wearing toupees, you must not make fun of them. The two ex-Deaths are still friends with War, Pestilence and Famine, and you might find yourself drafted, sick and hungry. This is especially true if the couple is in town to buy a new combine harvester.
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The Garden of Adompha
Based on the story of the same name by Clark Ashton Smith.
The New Death and others Page 8