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                               Sangrelysia

                          by Vivian Darkbloom

In Which We Journey To The Lake Of The Virgin

   "Do you believe in destiny?" asked the Princess, as we
   methodically marched along our appointed path to reach the Lake
   of the Virgin.

   Along the faint, overgrown forest trail I followed my spry young
   princess, as she trod with backpack and staff, clad in undersize
   shorts and oversize hiking boots. With so miniscule a bottom, it
   was difficult to believe she could find a pair of hot-pants that
   were actually too short, but my clever young lass had managed to
   succeed in doing just that.

   And now with each step, her dear sweet divine behind pumped
   alternating with intoxicating rhythm that lulled my imagination
   with images of rhythmic activity of a different kind, fueled by
   the sweet smell of her exertion and the bright clarity of her
   perfect smooth skin as she faced the frontier.

   "Destiny?" I mumbled absently.

   "You know, how when you're reading a book, you can always skip to
   the last page to see if you like the ending."

   "If you like to spoil surprises."

   "But in real life -- what seems real, anyway -- it's like God
   designed us facing backwards. We can only see in the direction we
   came from. Wouldn't it make more sense to be able to see in the
   direction we're going? I mean, do animals have eyes in their
   butts? Or in their heads?"

   "Both past and future are realms of possibilities," I offered, my
   eyes remorselessly glued to her butt.

   "So?"

   "The past exists as a myriad of different paths to where we are
   now, yet we see it as only one."

   "So?"

   "Perhaps we do see the future more clearly, because we recognize
   that it's subject to change according to our decisions."

   We walked along the rock-and-tree-root-strewn path through the
   trees in silence for awhile as she pondered.

   "Nah," she said finally. "You're just messing with my head."

   "Try to go very far back in time, and you'll discover the
   practicality of what I'm saying."

   At that moment, we came around a bend to a clearing, where the
   foliage around us fell back to reveal a breathtaking view of an
   enormous forested valley, and beyond that a series of
   tree-covered ridges receding like frozen ocean waves off into the
   distance, as the hint of the morning mist lingered like an aura
   of expectation, fading into the dark blue sky above.

   Overhead a hawk soared, lazily circling.

   Sylvia gazed up at it. "Do you think I could convince it to take
   an interest in. . ." she glanced back at the two large black
   crows that seemed to be following behind us, from a distance.

   I chuckled. "I suppose. They're a bit big, but it wouldn't hurt
   to loudly mention the possibility so they can hear."

   She picked up a stone, muttered a little incantation, then hurled
   it back in the direction of our unwanted audience. The rock flew
   astonishingly far, clipping one of the startled birds' wing as it
   flew up with a squawk.

   I laughed again, arousing consternation in my partner.

   "Doesn't it bug you?" she demanded. "They've got to be spies."

   "If they weren't so clumsy and foolish, it might bug me. But so
   long as they're here, they're not conveying information to
   Elwrong."

   "How can you be sure?" she complained. "What if they slip away at
   night to inform the others?"

   "Them?" I laughed. "They're afraid to lose sight of us, because
   if they do, they'll never find their way back."

   "How do you know?"

   "Look babe, if you let it get to you, they've already
   accomplished half of what they set out to do."

   She shifted her pack to one side. While the enormous bulk and
   mass of the million things we carried had been mostly neutralized
   by compression and levitation spells, I found it was best to
   leave some weight in it, about the heft of two or three books, so
   one would be aware of carrying it, thus less inclined to leave it
   behind somewhere.

   "Water?" I suggested.

   "Could I have some of yours? I think mine is underneath the
   tent."

   "And the harp?"

   "Well, yeah."

   I sighed gently, offering her my canteen.

   "What I don't get," she said between gulps, "is how come Elwrong
   can do magic in the first place anyway." Gulp. "I thought you
   said in order to do magic," gulp gulp, "You had to purify your
   mind first."

   "Hey, hey! No backwash into my canteen."

   "I'm not!"

   "Better not, or you'll get to taste the realm of pure evil."

   "No, it's only the backwash."

   I glared.

   "Just kidding. So anyway, how come? And how did there get to be a
   dimension of pure evil anyway?"

   I gazed at the hawk circling. I guess I was lost in thought for
   awhile.

   "Hello? How am I supposed to learn, unless you answer my
   questions?"

   "Of course," I mused aloud. "That's the key."

   "What? What key?"

   "See, there are only two ways in which one can engage in magic,
   while the mind contains harmful intent. There's the tantric
   method, where one gains sufficient positive karma that one can
   commit deeds of grave immorality without incurring consequences.
   Killing a murderer in order to save the lives of others, for
   instance. One must have cultivated an extremely focused intent of
   pure virtue over many lifetimes, first."

   "Ok, so we can scratch that possibility. What's the other?"

   "To cast a spell that neutralizes the consequences of impure
   thoughts. The power of such a spell would have to be based in the
   dimension of pure evil, meaning a connection with that dimension
   must be maintained at all times for it to work."

   "So. . . if we break the spell?"

   "Precisely. By severing the connection."

   "And how did this dimension of annoying yuckiness get there in
   the first place?"

   "The primeval swirl," I replied.

   "The what?"

   "The universe, when it was first incarnated, was like a smooth
   plane beneath the heavenly sun, the source of all light.
   Metaphorically speaking, of course. The smooth plane was
   featureless and flat, all equally lit by virtue and goodness.

   "Then the urge arose to escape monotony. Individuality and
   character acted to cause a swirl in the landscape. Rising up to
   create mountains and valleys, the swirl cast shadows of chaos,
   creating a contrast between darkness and light, between evil and
   good."

   "Can't we just get to the part where it all dissolves back into
   the light again? I'm about ready to be finished with all the
   dorky evilness." She hurled another stone back at our followers,
   this time connecting with a satisfying thud and a storm of inky
   black feathers.

   "Ah, the petulance of youth."

   "I'll pet your lance!"

   "Promise?"

   She smiled, walking over to lean her flat chest against mine,
   inadvertently pressing the protection amulet dangling from a
   thong around her neck into my sternum.

   "Ouch!" I exclaimed.

   "Sorry," she apologized, moving it aside and thrusting her sweet
   young chest against me once more.

   "Of course I promise," she said. She looked up at me,
   irresistibly tight little lips hanging slightly open in a most
   tantalizing hint of a nascent kiss.

   I leaned down to give it birth, to give berth to her tongue
   inside my mouth, to harbor intents to be carried out in a tent
   later on that evening, intensely carried away by camp emotions.

   Somewhat breathlessly, we continued our hike and philosophical
   discourse.

   "The problem with pure bad," I said, "is that it includes being
   bad at being bad, which all collapses on itself eventually."

   "Not like being good at being good."

   "Or being good at being naughty. . ."

                                                          Chapter 21

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