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Sangrelysia
by Vivian Darkbloom
Seeing
It was on our way to visit Delphia, in the cool of a clear sunlit
morning, as we traversed the village cobblestones, that Sylvia
insisted on a horsie-back ride.
"Too tired to walk," she complained. "Carry me!"
"Don't you think you're getting a little old for that? At ten
years old, you're a bit heavy for me to lift."
"Pleeeeeze?"
Exasperated frown.
Puppy-dog eyes, with erotic hip flick thrown in.
"Well, all right. Climb on." I stooped down for her to mount.
"Yay! Horsie back!"
You may well picture what the town people thought, of the wizened
Wizard in long grey robes and pointy hat galloping down the
cobblestones with the deep crimson, purple, and dark green
velvet-clad Princess on his back.
On second thought, don't.
The towering form sauntered out in front of us with a jaunty
swagger and placed his feet wide, blocking our way. Dressed in
earthen brown from head to foot, with heavy leather boots and a
leather vest with a silver star on the front. A sword hung heavy
at his side, and he wore a sheathed knife strapped to his left
calf.
I wheeled and skidded to come to a halt just short of a
collision.
"Constable," I greeted cheerily, "Top of the morning to you!"
"Wizard, I'll get straight to the point. There's been a reward
posted for your capture, dead or alive. Story goes that you
kidnapped the Princess."
"He's giving me a horsie-back ride," chirped Sylvia helpfully
from my back.
"The story is a lie," I said evenly. "I saved the Princess from a
plot to assassinate her."
"I was figurin' about as much, and you know nobody in this town
has any quarrel agin' ye, which is more than I can say about the
King. But beware. Vile men've been asking after you of late, and
I've heard complaints of townfolk bein' watched and spied upon by
shifty strangers from other parts. Sinister times are upon us,
and ye would be well advised to watch your back."
"Thanks for the warning, constable. I know I can count on you."
"And Princess," continued the constable, "Don't go to rough on
him, you hear?"
"Me? No way!" replied Sylvia. "Giddyap!"
____________________________________________________________
Delphia's house, surrounded by a black wrought-iron fence, was a
masterpiece of masonry. An anomaly in its neighborhood of trim
houses and cottages of wood and plaster with thatch and shingle
roofs, the domes and arches of Delphia's abode rose with playful
frolic, like a miniature wonderland castle inset with brick,
stone, colored tile, glass, and whatever materials may have been
at hand, with absurd orderliness, clumsy elegancy. Oddly shaped
curves and angles askew cavorted like a troupe of frenzied
dancers frozen in time.
Stepping-stone islands in a smooth-pebbled gravel sea led to a
bright orange front door, with two circular portals placed at a
diagonal. Odd that someone who was blind would live in a place so
rich with visual interest.
We were greeted by a lad of about Sylvia's age, who ushered us
into the dark, plush interior, rich with scents of aromatic
spices and herbs.
"So," Delphia leaned forward in her carmine-cushioned chair, as
we sat on matching cushions on the floor before her. Through the
condescending tone, her voice tendered an unaccustomed warmth and
sympathy. "The Wizard has learned to curse his fate."
"Wouldn't you say I was entitled?" I began crossly, but stopped
short. Delphia was ever the expert at pushing those hidden
buttons.
She smiled wryly, her blindfold nacreous velveteen blue in the
soft light that filtered between plush curtains.
"You must embrace your fate, in order to let go of it. While you
struggle, it is simply your fate. Once you have accepted it, it
becomes your destiny."
My eyes crossed as I attempted to decipher. As usual, she had put
me a bit on edge. I had not come to hear vague reassuring
platitudes.
"Where can I find a dragon's tear?" I asked.
Her grin was smug and cryptic. "I believe I can sense one in this
room. Did you bring it with you?"
"Well, no. I --"
"Why don't you reach into your pocket?"
I reached into the pocket of the robe-of-many-pockets, expecting
the pocket to produce some odd, unusual object. A brine-filled
eyedropper?
My fingernail clicked on the familiar surface of the small
crystalline globe. Laughing disdainfully, I drew it out placing
it on my palm.
"See? All I've got is this."
"Let me see," she reached out her hands, and I placed the cool
sphere between her palms. She held it up to her wrinkled
forehead, its clear lens refracting the objects and colors around
into weirdly stretched shapes.
Seconds ticked past in the silence. The flame of the tall dark
blue taper on the table beside her danced seductively.
"Yes indeed," she muttered, almost to herself alone, "There is
powerful sorrow in this one. Matched by powerful magic in equal
measure."
"What?!" I protested incredulously. "That's a dragon's tear? You
mean I was carrying around the answer with me all along? Right
there in my pocket?"
"Isn't that always the way?" replied Delphia wryly.
Sylvia wore and expression of puzzled distaste. I guess she would
just have to make friends with her favorite crystalline globe.
"So, then," I said. "What do we do with it?"
Delphia grinned with annoying superiority. "Do not expect a
dragon's magic to follow any sort of logic or reason that you can
comprehend. This dragon's tear has found you and brought you here
by following the laws of many higher dimensions which you cannot
grasp. Its magic carries it through the twists of fate into the
hands of one who will hear its sorrow."
"You mean, it's controlling us?" I protested.
Again, the infuriating grin. "The Wizard likes to be in charge.
One studies magic in order to be in control of things. This
exercise in realizing that you are not may teach that your
seeming choice and self-determination are always delusional."
"I'm getting enough of that lately," I muttered.
"So how do we cure my boyfriend?" demanded Sylvia bluntly.
"Ah, the Princess speaks. I have heard much about you, my dear,
from the spirit world. Yes, great destiny awaits you."
We sat for a minute in awkward silence, before Delphia continued:
"In order to release the healing power of a dragon's tear, one
must solve its mystery, to discover the dragon's source of
sadness. It's like a message in a bottle, you know, that one
might toss out to sea from a shipwrecked island."
"So how do we do that?" persisted Sylvia.
Delphia shifted in her chair, offering back the crystalline
globe, the dragon's tear. I took it back from her, placing it on
a pillow in front of me.
She continued: "It is a great honor to be chosen for such a
quest. These things do not fall lightly, nor at random. And now,
the Ancient Mother would like to have a word with you."
Sylvia frowned at me with an expression of impatience, and I
shushed her silently with an open hand. For Delphia to channel
the Ancient Mother herself was a rare event indeed.
For those who sought to witness the spectacle of spirit
mediumship, Delphia would often enough channel through the spirit
of a recently deceased loved one or sage, generally producing
some dramatic piece of information which could only have been
known to that individual. Harmless entertainment, for the most
part.
The tumult in the spirit world must have been singularly intense,
for such a primal entity as the Ancient Mother to come forth with
a message.
Delphia sat up in her chair, spine straight, hands placed in
symmetrical mudras on her thighs. I closed my eyes as well in
meditation.
For several minutes, nothing happened, save that I could sense
the approaching consciousness of a great other-worldly light, an
indescribable iridescent presence of unfathomable caring and
compassion, rich with the knowledge and history of the millenia,
an enormous opalescent radiance of limitless love and prismatic
wisdom, a softness and tender affection.
I could almost hear with my physical ears the psychic ripples of
sound, the wooshing of a tornado-like conical vortex, like a
funnel over our heads as the greater entity drew down into an
energetic focus that would resonate comfortably with human
perception.
"Sylvia, Wizard," came the words from Delphia's lips, but with a
gentleness and affection I had never before heard in Delphia's
voice.
Opening my eyes briefly, I could see that Delphia was gone. Her
body was still present, of course, but the expression and tone of
voice were no longer hers.
"Ancient Mother," I replied hesitantly.
"Yes, Wizard," she replied tenderly, "It's me."
The picture that came to my mind's eye starkly contrasted the
corpulent big-breasted Gaia image typically conjured up by the
words "Ancient Mother."
I saw before me a young woman, thin and fair, with long wavy
blonde hair spread out across her shoulders and chest. She wore a
long white gown embroidered in gold.
I knew the image represented only one aspect of the entity known
as "Ancient Mother," who had a diverse array of physical
representations, from which she chose the one that would best
communicate with the person she was appearing to.
Artists over the centuries had depicted such images in paintings
and poetry.
"First," she said to Sylvia, "I want to assure you that your
mother and father are unharmed. The true King and Queen of
Sangrelysia are safe."
Sylvia took the news bravely, swallowing. A tear trickled down
her cheek. "Where are they?" she asked meekly.
"Fulfill the quest you are on, and they shall return."
"What quest do you mean, exactly?" I asked.
"The tears shed by the red dragon fell on the sandy shores of the
Lake of the Virgin. It is one of these tears that you now have
before you.
"The evil sorcerer named Elwrong stole into the dragon's lair,
and made off with the egg of her offspring. The Evil one bore the
egg from its warm nest to the edge of the cold lake, where she
cast it out into the middle of the frigid depths, into the heart
of the deep and dark waters.
"It is rare for a dragon to meet in the union which produces
offspring, so the egg was precious and dear to the dragon, and
with its loss came profound and inconsolable sorrow. It is on
account of this that the red dragon has lapsed into despondancy
and ceased to patrol the border, as she pines for the new life
that was nearly hatched. Each of mother and child can feel the
presence of the other, but without the warmth of the nest the
young dragon cannot break through the shell and enter into the
world."
Now I understood the dark submarine chill I felt while looking
into the crystalline globe. "So the egg is still alive?"
"Yes. This was the design of the evil sorcerer: to disarm the
border sentry in order to allow crossing into our fair and just
land the poisoned influences of others like herself."
"So," I said, "Let me get this straight: we're supposed to find
this lake and retrieve the egg. Then we're supposed to take it
back to the dragon's lair, which might be a tricky given that
nobody has ever seen a dragon's lair, except for now Elwrong, who
might be a bit less than cooperative when it comes to giving us
any helpful information we could use on the subject."
"The crystal will show you the way to the lake. It is several
days journey by foot from your nearby abode, and a pleasant and
scenic one at that. The rest will be made apparent in due time.
"I do so praise with enormous gratitude the courage that both of
you have shown so far. I know it must be difficult, but remember
that I am always with you, to guide you, no matter how it seems.
"Many blessings to you on your journey! The angels and light
beings give their thanks! And remember that I always love you, no
matter what."
To hear such words from Delphia's lips, pronounced with such
tenderness and delicate inflection, was incongruity indeed.
As if with my ears, I heard what seemed almost an auditory
whirlwind, the release of an air valve from one parallel universe
into another, as the swirling prismatic subtle energy arose once
more into the winged vortex of light above our heads.
"The Ancient Mother has spoken," sighed Delphia, back in her
customarily cranky tone.
"Do you remember any of what she said?" I asked.
She smirked. "Only that she was thanking you, of all people, for
your courage. What a state the world is in!"
"Can you tell us about dragons?" implored Sylvia. "None of the
Wizard's books have anything, really."
"Perhaps the Wizard should make it down to the bookseller's a bit
more often," replied Delphia sardonically.
I bit my tongue. Such wit. The illumination from the recent
mystical visit of the higher being of light still persisted in a
radiance and sense of uplifting that permeated the room, in spite
of Delphia's cordiality.
"Seriously," persisted Sylvia, "We need to know." I imagine her
maximum cuteness factor helped to melt some of Delphia's
crustiness.
"The ways and travels of dragons are mysterious. They may arrive
with thunderous wingbeats, or silently.
"The dragon's fire can burn like flame, but more often it serves
a more mystical purpose. It can open a portal to other
dimensions, or bring about marvelous transformations on the
things it washes over.
"When the dragon encounters an intruder, she exhales a long
snakelike stream of fire which wraps around the surrounds visitor
and engulfs them, returning them back into the dimension from
which they came."
She fell silent. The silence continued, extended, stagnated, grew
stale, turned awkward, and in brief, became a bit unpleasant.
Sylvia fidgeted and frowned, until her eye lit upon an object
lurking in the corner of the room.
"You have a harp!" she exclaimed.
"Do you play?" asked Delphia. "How lovely it would be to cheer
this place up with a little music!"
Chapter 20
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