csa
SUMMER 2018
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argรณ
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csa
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argรณ
CO-FOUNDERS
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Surambika Pradhan Neil Pathare ASSISTANT EDITORS
Jenna Staff Spencer Olsufka
FRONT COVER
Ruso Margishvili INSIDE & BACK COVER
Surambika Pradhan ILLUSTRATION Eugen and the magical Ink: Margherita Muzzi B’laan Kalon A Slave’s Tale Kshirsagar: Surambika Pradhan Innsuei: Jenna Staff & Surambika Pradhan www.csavargomagazine.com
MASTHEAD
EDITORIAL
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“We who with songs beguile your pilgrimage And swear that Beauty lives though lilies die, We Poets of the proud old lineage Who sing to find your hearts, we know not why, What shall we tell you? Tales, marvellous tales Of ships and stars and isles where good men rest.” James Elroy Flecker (Prologue to The Golden Journey to Samarkand, 1913)
Long summers were my favorite. The scorching heat of summer afternoons kept all the kids inside the family home every vacation. Limited access to television and internet resulted in adults calling for naps for kids till the temperature cooled down. However, it was impossible to put ten or so reluctant and highly energetic kids to sleep without the aid of stories. We were told tales of princesses and beasts, demons and gods, and other beings who could only exist in the imaginary worlds. Anything ordinary would not suffice. The fascination of the unreal and intrigue of how it all tied together compelled me to stay awake till the end, much after all the other children were asleep. And soon I would drift into my own phantasmagorical dreamland. Memories of those stories will probably last a lifetime. Most of the ancient history that has survived through millenia can be attributed to human race’s primitive nature of storytelling. As far as legends go, we have heard many stories describing from the beginning of the universe to the apocalyptic end of the world. For every folktale one might have heard, there are hundreds that are unheard of outside of the community or the country they originated in. These tales have played an important role in shaping various traditions and culture of the world. The romance associated with travelling and storytelling has been portrayed in many inspirational books and movies. Often the main protagonist is actualized as a vagabond. The mysterious traveller who knows all the stories of the world and travels far and wide collecting, narrating, and imparting knowledge. With the idea analogous to that of a vagabond’s life, Csavargó was conceived, to serve as a vehicle to collect stories and narrate through its pages. I truly believe in the power of stories and their ability to connect people at a personal level. The pages that follow not only tell you tales, but they are a part of the authors’ hearts, paying a tribute to their memories of everything dearly loved. And if you are a reader, let us take you to the secret lands we have kept to ourselves for so long, in hopes that you welcome others in to yours.
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Margherita Muzzi Andrea Katigbak Ashley Hodge Zsofia Strauss Surambika Pradhan Jenna Staff
1 9 15 27 31 37
Eugen and the Magical Ink B’laan: The Story of Creation Kalon A Slave’s Tales Kshirsagar Innsuei
All text and images used in this issue are copyrighted to Csavargó magazine. Unauthorized usage of either text or images is not permitted. If interested in reprinting, please email csavargomagazine@gmail.com.
Eugen and The Magical Ink Margherita Muzzi (Italy)
Martin Krpan retold This is a classic folktale from Slovenia and the Karst area in North East Italy. They were both part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. In 1858 Slovenian author Fran Levstik put the story on paper for the first time.
I will try to do the same, but this version brings some personal metaphors: Levstik’s point of view was quite nationalistic. The hero representing the Slovenian people was not so happy about the Austrian rule, and his weapon symbolized their strength. Mine on the other hand wants to reflect the ideas of different times: this hero finds independence in curiosity rather than nationality.
The young Eugen was a bootlegger from the small village of Podgora, living by buying and reselling the Ink which had just been carried through the Silk Road or the Indian sea, all the way to the city of Harbor. The best buyers were in big cities, where everyone who could write or draw would need some fine black gold. The Queen had granted permission to sell ink only to a few selected merchants who knew where to buy it and who would benefit from the trade, reselling at incredibly high prices to the few who could afford it. Eugen, during a long travel to the Far East, discovered that ink was not as expensive as everyone thought. He convinced a few men to organize an illegal and cheaper trade. His goods were for all of those who needed to write but were not born rich enough.
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Eugen travelled for miles and miles on his buggy, dragged by the faithful mare Muc’ka, with a big truck full of ink bottles, from Harbor to the streets and alleys the major cities of the kingdom. From the sea to the cities and back again, he always stopped in his hometown with food and stories for friends and family. Thaese visits made all the hard work worth it. One day, passing through a peaceful road through the mountain woods on his buggy, he had to stop, as the bandits from the small villages of the forest tried to attack him in search for money or gold. Eugen was used to these kind of ambushes. They were part of his adventurous and unfortunately illegal job. He quickly grabbed his sling, hidden under his seat, and threw some of the black bullets he kept in his belt. Ink was his weapon as much as it was his product to sell and that same ink would do the magic. Like a viscid net it entrapped every being it touched, leaving them numb and harmless. The magic came from a secret trick that Eugen had learned by a master writer of a faraway country: when certain writers could not stop their persecutors with words, the ink proved useful with a different tool: one made of wood and with a Y shape. With the road free of bandits, Eugen got back on track towards the Royal Capital. 2
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But hiding in those same woods was the Queen with her guards, scared of the bandits of that forest and waiting for the road to be clear and safe. She was equally impressed by the calm the young man had kept and the unusual weapon she had witnessed in action. Immediately a guard was sent to stop the hero as everyone run by the main road to examine the scene where the bandits were quietly sleeping covered by what seemed black stains. Eugen was brought back shortly after and smiled at the Queen as she curiously touched and smell the black liquid: “Your Majesty, what you are looking at is simple ink, but it has a great power”. “I thought so, but how can ink do what I’ve just seen? Not to mention that only few men can sell this precious liquid, do you have a permit for its trade?” said the Queen kindly.Eugen kept again his calm “I’m not selling any precious liquid, I’m only selling ink.” “This cannot be just ink. I saw with my own eyes what happened, would you care to tell me your name and what is that you carry with you?” “Sure, Your Highness. My name is Eugen of Podgora. What I bring with me is the ink of the Far East. I travelled a long way to see a different world, and I have understood that sometimes not everything we see it’s real: ink is not a precious gold.” The Queen seemed genuinely surprised, but then Eugen continued: “And sometimes what we see it’s the simple reality: that is ink, used in a slightly different way than usual” he ended with a cunning smile. The Queen was still unsure whether to believe him or not: “I guess you don’t have the permit. I will forget this problem for tonight but I will not forget your courage and your calm.” Eugen thanked her, hopped back on his buggy and continued his way.
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Some months after, while the Capital was still waiting for the winter to end, the doors of the city were blocked by a giant man by the name of Brdavs. For every woman and every man trying to enter, he would stop them with is enormous hand and ask for an illegal toll. He could barely speak properly, but he could count precisely what was owned him and he could hit fast with his fist. The Queen had sent her guards first and her best warriors to stop and capture him, but nothing seemed to work and no one was strong enough to defeat the giant. As tall as some of the highest towers in the city, larger than the gate he blocked, nothing seemed to wound him. Swords and spears would barely scratch him, and no net in the city was big enough to wrap him. After two weeks of attempts, with less and less food entering the walls, the Queen was getting seriously worried. One evening, while she was looking worryingly through the window at the giant just out of the city, a guard tried to help: “Your Majesty, maybe we could try to find the young man with the magical ink!” The Queen’s face enlightened with joy: “you are right my friend! We have to send our best men looking for Eugen of Podgora!” That same nights twelve knights sneaked through the door and with their agile horses they avoided the giant’s fist, so they could start looking for Eugen and his magical ink. Two days went by before a knight could bring Eugen and his loyal mare to the Capital. They passed the gate and payed their entry, so Eugen could see Brdavs for the first time. Not even his size and the idea of fighting him undermined his calm: “Brdavs, I will see you tomorrow at midday, I will pass these doors and pay no toll” he said while looking up at the Giant’s small eyes. Brdavs laughed loudly: “then you’ll suffer my strength”.
The Queen was so happy to welcome Eugen, she had her servants prepare a rich banquet for the hero. That evening Eugen shocked his guests with his honesty and calm. He explained the absurdity of the high prices of ink and other goods which came from far away. The general ignorance about other kingdoms was inexplicable to him. The Queen understood that Eugen was interested in different things rather than the generous food of the banquet, so that night she showed him her palace. Once they arrived at the library she told him: “I am very a curios woman too. My curiosity is fed by the talk with all the people I meet and the writings of all the ones I cannot meet.” “Imagine if even more people that you cannot meet could talk to you through their own pages? If ink wasn't considered gold maybe writing wouldn't be so difficult to learn.” Eugen replied. The Queen agreed: “You are right my young friend, I will have my ambassadors travel to the Far East and see the real price of this magical liquid.” They went on to have breakfast, the most important meal of the day, especially when it was time to defeat a giant.
A little before midday Eugen descended the Main Street of the city, filled with encouraging people, and arrived in front of the gate. He could see Brdavs towering over the walls, waiting joyfully for another warrior to easily beat. But his rival this time it wasn’t a warrior, but a curious traveler who knew he had to fight with his head and not his hands: the moment the doors opened to let Eugen through, a bullet of ink was already shot and hit the Giant before he could even see the enemy. 6
Eugen had prepared to shoot before the doors opened to avoid the fearsome fist and to catch Brdavs by surprise.Brdavs fell to the floor wrapped in a black net which slowly seemed to dry into black stains.The Giant was finally captured and the way to the city was open again to everyone arriving at its doors. After a long day of celebration, the Queen thanked Eugen with the liberalization of the traffic of ink: “I think this is the best gratitude I could show to such a curious hero” “This gift will benefit many people you haven’t meet yet, my Queen” recognized Eugen, before leaving for the Harbor, where more bottles of ink were waiting for their merchant and his loyal mare.
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The Making of the B’laan Andrea Katigbak (Philippines)
This is the story of how the people came to love and worship Melu who made them.
Before everything else, there was Melu and Tau Tana. Melu and Tau Tana who, would spend the days talking with each other talking about things, and pondering. Melu was larger than imagination. He sat upon the clouds in the space above, and took up the entire sky. Melu was cleanly, and his teeth were of pure gold. And he continuously rubbed at his skin with his hands Until it fell in flakes to the side and his skin became pure white. And the skin that fell, he gathered into a mound that grew with the passing of days. Tau Tana occupied the space below, glimpsed rather than seen. Melu and Tau Tana would pass the days talking and pondering and talking. And the mound of skin continued to grow at Melu’s feet until it grew to make him wonder what to do What to do with the mound of skin. And pondering decided to make the earth. He began shaping daily, daily Tau Tana watched as Melu shaped the earth until he was pleased.
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So pleased that with the skin that was left over he began to shape two beings like himself to live on the earth. And the flakes of skin began to take his form, closer daily as Tau Tana looked on at the shaping. And the day arrived to sculpt their faces. Having never seen himself, Melu ran his hands over his face, to cast the memory of his features into his fingers. Melu began. On the beings’ faces, he began to hollow out and curve his features. Daily they grew to resemble him, daily Tau Tana looked on, daily closer and closer. 10
Until it was time to shape the last feature, and Tau Tana said wait. Wait, the holes of the nose face the sky said Tau Tana and they argued. And Tau Tana said, it is I who can see your face and so it happened that the final feature was finished with the nostrils facing the sky. Then Melu and Tau Tana goaded the beings into living and set them upon the earth and returned, Melu to the place above and Tau Tana to the place below. And all was well with the beings on the earth.
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And all was well until the day a great downpour fell from the sky. And the beings, having their noses upturned began to drown. Melu sped to save them, and quickly quickly turned their noses. And they were saved, as the water ran down the slope of their noses. And the beings, grateful to Melu for saving them, loved him and promised to do all he asked. 12
Before Melu left to return to the place above The beings told him they were lonely. And so Melu said to them: Save the hair that falls from your head and the skin that is shed from your bodies and gather these and I will shape companions for you. And they did so. And when Melu returned to the earth he made companions for the beings, and that is how there came to be a great many people on the earth.
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Kaalon Ashley Hodge (USA)
Once upon a time long, long ago in a magical land far, far away an explosion of white fire blazed through the sky above of a town called Traboph Harbor. The flame was so bright it turned the obsidian night into day and surrounded the Traboph people with a great fear of things to come. Blinded by the encircling smoke of the dying star, small hands reached out of the chaos to search the turquoise waters for safety. The coolness submerged her torso as the surf unfurled itself upon her. In seconds the shadow of the demon dragon was overhead and her skin sweltered with the memory of its dreadfully hideous snarl. A shrieking filled the air, visceral and beastly. Despite the fact that she was underneath the water the burning sensation and agonizing screams rang in her ears once again. The pain was too much to bear. She struggled through the waves to reach the surface; grasping for the help that she couldn’t find, but so desperately needed. Her weak hands only felt emptiness...
Princess Savaa’s frightened eyes flew open, her body entangled in her own bedding. She flew herself up and let out a dry scream from her parched, crimson lips. No noise. Nothingness. Savaa slapped at her arms to put out the pain; but they were no longer engulfed with flame. While the daylight danced into her bay window she began to realize she was safely in her poster bed. Her fur covers snuggled on her arm chair near the window. Her fireplace burnt to embers still gave a faint glow about the room. Dripping with sweat from a long night’s imaginary battle her foggy eyes began to see the abstract-patterns painted onto her chamber wall more clearly. Long gone was the dragon of her nightmares; what remained were only the five-year-old ashened scars on her limbs and back, the frequent blistering soreness of her face, and the constant memory of the agony she endured on that fateful summer day. Ovurais - The Evil One, gave her the unpleasant flaws on that day half of a decade since. Painful reminders that she was no longer the beauty she had once been during the first twelve years of her life. Her cunning demeanor and vivacity for life were deeply rooted in her soul, those traits the hateful Ovurais could never take from her. But her flawless complexion and elegant curly blonde locks were long gone. She would forever appear his victim. 15
In her youth she had not seen the tremulous ground they stirred or heard their piercing roars, but had heard the stories of the poor men who had attempted to fight the dragons of the south and who had lost their lives in the deadly pursuit of valor and glory. She had only her imagination of such tales told around the dining hall or before bed, stories meant to warn her of the danger in her world if not careful. Alas, the tales had ill-effect. Her twelve-year-old self was adventurous, curious, and like most at that age, had a knack for finding trouble. 16
That fateful morning after breakfast, Savaa had journeyed towards the Klawol Caverns on the bank of the Sestan River, a short stroll from Braewood. She had always loved being outdoors. For even during the warm summer months Braewood had a dampness in the air that invigorated her step and pushed her imagination onwards. She could still recall the beguiling voices of the harbor mermaids as she skipped across the wood planked deck. Though the mermaids could not be seen, they always caused a frenzy with the townspeople, especially the fishermen. She remembered how her blonde ringlets had sparkled with the sun and how her melodious tune was harmonized by the chirps of the crickets and the songs of the birds. At that moment, life was a wonderful experience. Savaa had always been incredibly intuitive with her surroundings. She felt all of nature and nature was beautiful. It was everything working in harmony to create an orchestra of wonder. Pondering on this whilst aloof in her element was the happiest memory in Savaa’s young life. Now that memory was blackened by the chaos that ensued, the terror that flew at her out of nowhere with a terrifyingly thunderous noise. It was then that everything turned dark. Clouds wrapped the sun in a tight cocoon, the trees became quiet and even the crickets found silence. What happened next was so quick it was hard to believe anything happened at all. A hoard of dragons screeched overhead while Savaa could hear the tortured screams of the villagers. Fire escaping from their enormous mouths lit the thatched roofs on fire. The mermaids’ song had vanished and Savaa could see the townspeople running into the waves for shelter from the growing flames. Suddenly, Savaa noticed a dragon with a red scar on his belly veer her way. Ovurais, she thought to herself. It was he that had been speared by the warrior, Geralt the Great, hundreds of years ago and did not die. It was said that any other dragon would have succumbed to that ten-foot-long gash, but not Ovurais. He had killed Geralt in seconds with his guttural flame and gobbled up the greatest hero to ever have lived. But what was more, legend said that this did not sate Ovurais’ anger and that he found and tortured every man, woman and child in the nearby villages, burning their homes, scorching their bodies and eating what he could of them. This was why he was not just any dragon, but Ovurais - The Evil One. This all flashed through her mind in seconds as the largest, most wicked dragon of them all descended upon her. Ovurais sped towards Savaa as she ran to the nearest cavern entrance on the harbor. The narrow cave would give her the protection she needed. Her scrawny legs were stronger than she could have ever imagined and she entered the cave with moments to spare. For a short time her life was spared from the devil in the sky. The steady trickle from the river water into the cavern opening cautioned her to step carefully. A huge crevasse sang an unfriendly tune as fast-moving river water was heard underfoot. A fast fall to a freezing death. She quickly shuffled around the crevasse and wondered if she would ever be able to escape back to Braewood. Savaa considered if Ovurais could just stay outside the hollow entrance, she could attempt to escape through a lower cavern hole into the water. She would have to hold her breath for a very long time, but it was the only idea she could conjure while she squatted in a dark corner struck numb by fear and exhaustion. She had figured she would have to crawl for a bit and had begun to shift her weight forward to her hands when she found herself screech with pain and her arms give way. Her back felt like it was on fire. She tried to get up again, but this time she felt her neck tighten and her head felt like a detached stone. She let herself fall again, but this time she stayed down. The burning swept over her skin as the realization of what was happening, where she was and how she would ever escape dug into her psyche with a hard explosion of white, then black, then nothingness. Thinking back on it, unconsciousness had saved her from the worst of it. She hadn’t had to endure the worst hours of the night worrying about Ovurais while stifling her need to cry for her wounds and shriek for her hopeless predicament. Though it was morning when she awoke, the sun was gone. It too had tried to hide just like everyone else that saw the dragon fleet on the horizon.
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Droplets of water ran down the onyx barricades of this cavity in the earth, as droplets of tears softly ran down her rosy cheeks. She listened for movement, for breath, for any warning of an evil monster waiting for her to finally emerge. She heard nothing but the metronome of dripping water, cool and safe. She remembered how hard the first step was. To get up, what a simple thing. Not then. It had been agony to lift a finger, let alone an arm, her head, then finally herself up enough to get her legs underneath her and her wits about her. She staggered towards the opening which had saved her life the day before. Surprisingly, the physical exertion wasn’t so difficult in retrospect, it was the mind she had to conquer most. She had begun to churn with worry. Would her mother and father be looking for her by now? Were they even alive? She hoped they had stayed safe in the castle. But there were so many dragons, maybe everyone was dead. Maybe she was the only person alive. What would she do then? She needed help. Maybe everyone needed help? How were they continue after all this? Maybe she wouldn’t even make it back to the village. After all, it was almost an hour’s walk when she wasn’t in pain all over. She was moving at a snail’s pace and every step took all her energy. Maybe it was easier to give in, to fall in a heap. It’s all she wanted to do. Just give in. It would be so much easier to just give in. Why couldn’t she let herself die? Still hobbling out of the cave lost in her anxiety laden thoughts, Savaa was shaken out of her trance when she heard a noise skitter at her feet. To the left of her ankle, she noticed a shimmering reflection. She turned to see glimmering gold and silver objects of all sizes lay on the entrance floor. As she tiptoed quietly to the pile she stepped over a puddle of water with a faint reflection of what looked to be a creature from Hell. It was charred, broken and haunting. Not possibly anything she could have recognized then, but something that would become who she would forever be. “Saaaavaaaaaaaaa?” the high-pitched inquiring voice startled her out of her memories and back to her present. Her robust servant Julareay was calling her to come for breakfast. Sternness resonated in her demeanor. Still in her bed, Savaa stretched her long arms covered in pale blemishes of scar tissue. It had taken years for Savaa to be able to comfortably sleep on her back, and it was only recently that she could stretch her skin without feeling like it would break open again. Though the pain had diminished and her skin healed over, it was the nightmares and scars that kept the day alive. And not just for her, but for everyone in Traboph Harbour. She was a walking reminder of the homes and villagers they lost, and of the fear they must live with everyday forth. Savaa no longer took joy walks by herself. Not only was it too difficult for her now, but he loathed the terror and sadness in every face she met. It was a dark world she carried upon her skin. She vowed she would not put that upon anyone but herself. Savaa answered, “I’m up.” “Time to eat, Savaa,” Julareay yelled quickly again and turned around towards Savaa’s little brother’s room, “Maaaaaalik,” her loud voice began to soften as she walked away down the hall. Savaa rose from her bed and began to dress for the day. Though cloistered in the castle for the sake of the townsfolk, she refused to allow the tragic history to sour the delights of her life. Changing into her freshly laundered chemise Savaa opened the window to view the sunny day. “Good morning you,” saying out loud to the fresh air. Something about this day was going to be glorious. She could just feel it. Malik awoke to the sound of his sister’s delightful soprano voice ringing through the walls of the south wing. Ten years younger than Savaa, he had been two when Ovurais had mangled her from lower back to neck and blistered both arms. He remembered the left side of her face had been riddled with scorched skin that slowly made way to lighter splotchy skin. 18
He remembered a time when he was once scared of his sister’s face, but now, though he was still only seven he knew the scars were not what defined his beloved sister. And after five years of treatment and healing, the facial scars were far less grotesque. Being with and around Savaa meant balance and harmony in his life. She was strong and brave. Kind and wise beyond her years. He would be king after their King Father’s death and when he came of age and with Savaa by his side, he knew he would rule Traboph Harbor in a compassionate and tolerant way. Malik hopped out of bed, changed his clothes speedily and was opening his bedchamber door right when Savaa was heading to the dining hall. “Good morning, my favorite brother,” Savaa giggled waving her hands up in the air to lure Malik’s eyes to her. “And to you, my sister, a good morning.” Sitting down across from each other at the large table their plates were whisked out from the kitchen. It would only be them eating this morning, because mother and King Father would be eating in the Solar. Fruits were plentiful this time of year and with such a great wheat crop, bread was used to hold their soup. “Busy day planned?” Her questions were continuous. Always asking where he was going and curious if he needed any assistance. He was seven, almost a man and growing more so by the day. He took a bite of his trencher and a little soup dribbled down his chin and onto his cloak. “I plan to feast at the dinner banquet. And you?” He posed the question while reaching for his drink. 19
“French tutor and then Latin, but after my lessons I plan to attend. I heard there may even be pomegranates!” Her voice rose as she mentioned the yummy fruits that she adored, but rarely ever got to eat. The dinner banquet was one of Savaa’s favorite meals of the year. Dinner would begin around 10am and Savaa did not want to miss out. Her King Father had invited King Samuael and his family from Wrinsland to dine with her family. He and his family were announced as the honored guests and she could smell the pork and beef being prepared in the open hearth near the kitchen. Savaa loved the delicacies of the kitchen. “That smells delicious,” she exalted after a large whiff of the meats tickled her nose and her stomach. “Mother said there would be the apples and pears again,” Malik knew how much Savaa adored the foods, “and peas and beans too!” Her passion was food and she cherished the moments when the kitchen maid, Margaret, would let her help whip up a dessert or a pudding. “Mother said your favorites will be there too. Guess which ones?” he liked to make her guess when he knew information that she may not. It made him feel the superiority that he was told by his King Father that he needed to possess in order to be king one day. “Guess, Savaa.” “Will there be the almonds and raisins again?” she inquired, but already knew that was the correct answer because Marget had told her a fortnight ago. “Yes! Good guess, sister.” There was no doubt that Savaa loved food, but the parties to celebrate the friendships her King Father had with other kingdoms always ended up dulling her. Dinner would be followed by harp players and stories of the battles and wars the men had fought in; followed by the men killing animals and the women struggling through forced conversations. Her food had been gone for a while when she realized she needed to meet her French tutor, Monsieur Lacroix in the gardens. Standing up and shuffling herself around to Malik’s side of the table she politely bowed and pecked her brother’s forehead, and whispered, “I bid you farewell my brother. I love you dearly.” And with that she turned and left the dining hall. After her lessons were completed with Monsieur Lacroix, Savaa changed once more into the full-length courtly gown for the banquet dinner. With rich brocades and gold trim, the beauty of this gown was undeniable. For a mere second twirling in front of her mirror Savaa forgot about the ugly marks. Actually, her arms and shoulders were covered by the fabric, with only her neck and clavicle being truly exposed. Luckily her mother wore a slight farthingale, which resulted in Savaa not needing a huge one either. Such uncomfortable things they were. The last piece was the necklace. Placed gently around her long neck, the gems of the jewelry gleamed in the natural light through the window. She felt that she was beautiful, not for the adornments on her body but for who she was as a human being. A generous young women who loved her family and the harbor more than anything. Opening her chamber door, she exited the room and climbed the stairs to the dining hall. While listening to the droning voices of the elder men sometimes left her uninterested and often on the verge of dozing off, today she felt a particular enthusiasm for their stories of the past. A certain story of kobolds living in the homes of some kitchen servants especially intrigued Savaa. Mischievous little creatures, kobolds were helpful with household chores, and if treated well they rarely became malicious or tricky.
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Prince Jerick, King Samuael’s son, added to the story, “It was tragic, very tragic. Our dear Melani from the kitchen had a kobold in her home. Poor thing passed during holiday. I spent the majority of the next day consoling our saddened kitchen maid. She was distraught.” His smooth voice spread generosity over the whole story. It was clear to Savaa that he was a thoughtful soul. He had been a dear friend of hers for many years. Like a shackled titled trust upon him at birth, this dashing sixteen-year old seemed genuinely not amused by having to serve the role of prince. His face reminded her all too readily of her own forced smiles. The dining hall smiles where the sentiment of the moment never reached her eyes. Prince Jerick’s demeanor was curious and cordial. They met when she was just a baby, and though she could not remember those first encounters by the age of three she kept memories of Jerick in her mind and in her heart. He was an extension of her family. Her mother found them once covered in mud after getting caught in the afternoon rain. They had been make-believe sword fighting and without warning the rain began to fall. Ohh, how mad her mother had been. Reprimanding Savaa about how a princess should act and giving her the look of extreme disapproval. Savaa knew Jerick would be a wonderful king, and she was confident that her brother Malik and Jerick would lead the Northernwood into many peaceful years to come. And for that reason she was grateful to have him in her life. After the meal, King Father and King Samuael, along with the rest of the invited royal men were discussing their upcoming hunting venture, while the women and children were organizing to play chess and backgammon until supper. Relaxation and light conversations were the next items on the day’s agenda. Jerick had come over to speak with Savaa about the weather. What a curious topic? “Hello Savaa,” Jerick said. She heard his words, but all she could do was notice those blue eyes. She could swim in his eyes. An aquamarine color with tiny hints of green. And his lashes were the blackest she had ever seen. She looked into his eyes more deeply than she had the last time they were together; which had only been six months ago. What had changed? Savaa pondered. “And hello to you, Jerick,” the informality of this encounter spoke loudly. It was tradition to call him Prince Jerick and the same reciprocated to her, but they were so familiar that the title just disappeared in the space between them. The kitchen servants rushed into the dining hall and retrieved the used dishes, while the men began to move about the room in preparation for the big hunt. “It is a splendid day, is it not? May I call on you later this evening after supper?” Jerick asked with a rare rouge creeping into his alabaster skin. She remembered how hard the first step was. To get up, what a simple thing. Not then. It had been Call ontome? Savaa. What an a funny ask?then They had had manyup a conversation justher the legs two agony liftthought a finger, let alone arm, way her to head, finally herself enough to get of them in private and now was asking formally? “Ofopening course which you may,” Savaaher responded underneath her andfor heryears wits about her.heShe staggered towards the had saved life the much too eagerly. She slowed her tone, “What shall we do?” day before. Savaa could see Jerickexertion was in wasn’t the process of thinking about their course action evening Surprisingly, the that physical so difficult in retrospect, it was the of mind she for hadthe to conquer when the hall doors crashed most. Shedining had begun to churn with open. worry. Would her mother and father be looking for her by now? Were even Sir,” alive?a She hoped had stayed safeinto in the wereby soamany dragons, “Kingthey Galeran. young manthey out of breath burst thecastle. diningBut hallthere followed handful of the maybe was dead. Maybe she was the only personact, alive. do then? She the needed King’s everyone Guard. Startled by this completely untraditional the What King would Fathershe boomed across hall help. Maybetoeveryone needed demanding know what was help? going How on. were they continue after all this? Maybe she wouldn’t even make it back to the village. After all, it was almost an hour’s walk when she wasn’t in pain all over. “Prince man barely wasstep abletook to stand, “he is gone.” She wasMalik,” moving the at awinded snail’s pace and every all her energy. Maybe it was easier to give in, to fall in a heap. It’s all she wanted to do. Just give in. It would be so just give in. Why Gasps ricocheted around the room. “What do you mean by gone?” themuch Kingeasier Fathertopressed, astonished couldn’t she let herself at the possibility of his die? son disappearing. Still hobbling outThere of thewere cavefive lostsmall in her anxietyHelatent thoughts, Savaa was shaken out of her trailed trance “They took him. goblins. was down by the harbor…”, the man’s voice when she heard a noise skitter at her feet. To the left of she noticed a shimmeringsadness reflection. off trying to catch his lost breath. The wordlessness ofher theankle, hall spoke of the irretrievable and She turnedthey to see gold Mother and silver objects of alland sizes lay on the“Where? entranceWhere floor. As confusion all glimmering felt. The Queen stood abruptly stammered, wasshe he tiptoed taken?”quietly to the pile she stepped over a puddle of water with a faint reflection of what looked to be a creature from Hell. It was charred, broken and haunting. Not possibly anything she could have “Down nearthen, the Klawol Caverns,” the become young man’s response. recognized but something thatwas would who she would forever be. 21
For a moment all eyes seemed to glance at Savaa. The last major tragedy at the caverns had been hers. Their staring eyes made the scars burn once more. How could this be happening all over again, Savaa thought. “Men, we must assemble,� his voice was harsh but Savaa could hear his sadness. The men that were just preparing to hunt now had a new mission. Standing from their chairs and assembling themselves and their weapons made the dining hall look like chaos. Savaa turned herself from the table to leave; while quickly glancing back at the confusion she locked eyes with Jerick. In an instance she knew that he knew what she was thinking. He would stop her if he could; so she ran. Carefully Savaa shimmied herself down the treacherous hill towards the dank cavern entrance. She had run the entire way from the castle tunnels towards the Sestan River. Only a few steps away from the entrance she had discovered a modest lantern, whose bright light kissed the somber wet walls. It was not a castle lantern, but it would work. Her last encounter with this hollow in the earth did not end up in her favor, but she had to try. This time she knew exactly who she was up against. Quietly sneaking up to the esoteric opening and past the crevasse, she could see one of the grotesque sallow goblins. Small in stature and disgustedly deformed, it was easy to understand why villagers abhorred the moss-shaded creatures. But those deformities did not scare Savaa. It was common knowledge that goblins loved shiny trinkets and jewels, but to have a young prince with an entire crown and drowning in gold and silver treasures - well that must have been the reason behind his disappearance. The villagers had called them outright mischievous and evil, but they had never been burned by Ovurais. He embodied evil. That day many years ago, Savaa had been too scared to venture further into the cave after hearing the scurrying feet. It was a mistake she knew, because once she left the protection of this womb she became a victim of Ovurais. 22
“Waaaahaaaaaaehhhhhhh,” the emptiness of the vile chuckle shook the walls of the cavern. “Meesaaalikegemgemgems,” shrieked a second larger goblin who hunkered down by Malik’s crown that had been thrown to the ground. She startled and followed the noise past an abyss that plummeted into an endless cavern of darkness. Looking down, Savaa could hear the unseen bottom heralding its warning; an echo of the possibility of a lasting grave. Savaa saw her eyes in the reflection. But they were not the same eyes she’d come to know. A strength flashed through them. Raw strength. She knew she alone had the power to save Malik. Turning the corner she noticed a small body hunkered and sobbing near the wall facing her. True he was the future king, but right now he was just a frightened child. His reddened eyes caught Savaa’s image in the shadows, his head shot upwards and with just his lips Malik mouthed, “Savaa!” In his dark eyes she saw the same scared look she’d seen in her own reflection so many years ago. For a moment she stared at her brother feeling utterly powerless, devoid of action to take. Constrained to this prison of frustration and anger that threatened to explode within her, she struggled between this new occupation of being both frightened and exhilarated. And she was quite confused about this internal struggle. Her only job was to bring him back to a world that legitimately needed him. Journeying into the darkness of her past was something Savaa had never prepared for; but she was more than willing to do so if it meant saving Malik. Savaa had been told in her young life that she would be happy and beautiful through all her days, but only after having to endure the unthinkable had she really become strong, even calloused to hardship and pain. Beauty would not save her brother, happiness would not push her to do what she had to do now. Only strength of mind and will of heart would carry them through this. With one hand on the wall, Savaa watched the goblins’ every move. It took about five minutes for the creatures to distract themselves with a different task and twisted their bodies away from Malik. She saw her moment. Savaa darted behind Malik, using his body as a shield for their sight, she took out the knife she had taken from her dinner and began to cut the rope that bound his arms to a wooden post. Sawing through the rope seemed to take an eternity, but with a little muscle and determination he was free. Taking his hand into hers they instantly sprinted towards the entrance. Just as they darted past the pile She remembered how hard Savaa’s the first neck step was. Tothe getlight up, what a simple thing. NotSavaa then. looked It had been of gems, the jewels around caught and brightened the hall. over agony to lift the a finger, her head, finally enough get sprinting her legs her shoulder, gleam let hadalone caughtanthearm, attention of thethen goblins and herself in a fewup second theytowere underneath her andthe hercorridor wits about her. She staggered towards the opening which had saved her picking life the after them. Down of the cavern, they stopped abruptly at the open crevasse, Savaa day before. up Malik and placing him on the other side, then Savaa jumped over and both darted towards the cave entrance. Surprisingly, the physical exertion wasn’t so difficult in retrospect, it was the mind she had to conquer most. She had begun to churn with worry. Would her mother and father be looking for her by now? Were they even alive? She hoped they had stayed safe in the castle. But there were so many dragons, maybe everyone was dead. Maybe she was the only person alive. What would she do then? She needed help. Maybe everyone needed help? How were they continue after all this? Maybe she wouldn’t even make it back to the village. After all, it was almost an hour’s walk when she wasn’t in pain all over. She was moving at a snail’s pace and every step took all her energy. Maybe it was easier to give in, to fall in a heap. It’s all she wanted to do. Just give in. It would be so much easier to just give in. Why couldn’t she let herself die? Still hobbling out of the cave lost in her anxiety latent thoughts, Savaa was shaken out of her trance when she heard a noise skitter at her feet. To the left of her ankle, she noticed a shimmering reflection. She turned to see glimmering gold and silver objects of all sizes lay on the entrance floor. As she tiptoed quietly to the pile she stepped over a puddle of water with a faint reflection of what looked to be a creature from Hell. It was charred, broken and haunting. Not possibly anything she could have recognized then, but something that would become who she would forever be. 23
Suddenly, Savaa stopped. So suddenly that Malik, who was right behind Savaa, ran into her back. She could hear the goblins hobbling after them, but she was frozen in place. “Savaa, we need to go,” Malik shouted at her struggling at her sleeve, “Saaaavaaaa.” His attempts went unnoticed, but he knew the goblins, though behind a fair distance, were still coming after them. And when they reached them they would not be kind. He tugged again and tried to wake her from whatever stunned silence she was in. Savaa didn’t move. The last time she exited this entrance she had been scalded. She had been deformed. She had been broken. She was paralyzed in fear. “Savaa. Please,” cried Malik, pleading his sister to move. “We need to move now! We need to get home!” “Home,” Savaa said in a trance-like tone. “Yes, home, Savaa. We need to go.” Inside her, Savaa felt the fear of the past few years. This internal battle that had taken five precious years of her life. A fear that kept her screaming in her sleep and wishing she was dreaming her scarred existence. The hardest thing she had ever worn had been this skin. Pain began to turn to peace. She saw the beauty in this life; she knew it existed. Evil may leave us scarred for life, but it should not lead us down a path of retreat. She had come to realize that evil was everywhere. But so was goodness, and goodness came from the will to care to live. Her brother was with her. She was alive. They had this life only and it began with one well-placed step. “We must move on,” Savaa said out loud to herself. “We must move on.” 24
Savaa awoke in her bed once again with the sun, startled by the lack of restless sleep she had just earned. Maneuvering cautiously from her tousled bed, she slipped on her morning robe and tiptoed down the glimmering hallway. Quiet and still, the walls of the hall whispered with secrets of kings and queens now long gone. Her sleep had not been infected by the disease of her memories. She felt for the first time a contentment with her lot, with her scars of evil. How much strength does one gain when they must face evil? Savaa considered as she stood in front of Malik’s door. Creaking the door ever so slightly, she poked her head in the room. Lying comfortably in the bed was her future king, Malik. Seated in a chair on his right was her King Father with his head laying on Malik’s bed. To his left was their mother, also peacefully sleeping next to Malik. “Sleep well, my dear brother,” she whispered as she gently shut the door. Walking back to her room Savaa felt a peace in her soul that was comforted by the image she had just experienced. Her family was her truest form of strength.
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A Slave’s Tales Zsofia Strauss
“Every truth has two sides; it is as well to look at both, before we commit ourselves to either.” - Aesop
Book Review
Aesop’s Fables Author: Aesop Translator: V.S. Vernon Jones Year: 1912 Publisher: W. Heinmann
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Myths are perhaps the oldest of all tales. The myths which have survived millenia of verbal transfer, transforming into folktales and eventually making their way into books. Some of the oldest and equally eminent tales are the ones compiled together as Aesop’s Fables. The now illustrious Aesop was born a slave. Although many places have been claimed to be his birthplace, all of those cities surround the Aegean Sea, reinforcing the historical fact that he lived in Samos. Although historical records maybe unreliable, the most steady fact was that Aesop possessed a gift of storytelling. His storytelling is known to get him out of slavery and put him amidst banquets during a reign of tyrants. He prospered due to his wit until his death around 560 BC. The popularity of Aesop’s fables can be attributed to their unsophisticated language and simple explanation of morals. Even with centuries passed, these tales are used to teach children about good and bad. The appeal also lies in the fact that the most of the human virtues and vices are taught through personified magical talking animals. There is no mention of any fantastical animals but animals we see everyday, who are capable of human speech. In a way, showing that animals are capable of thought and speech, made people more conscious before they hurt small animals because of their stature. These tales not only teach us about the right and wrong, but extensively talk about logic and reason. For example ‘The Mice in Council’ which ends in the famous line “...who is going to bell the cat?” simply speaks of planning and expecting results from an incident which has not even occured. However, there are stories which have relevance with the social issues we are facing in this day and age. ‘The Moon and her Mother’ vaguely touch the issue of physical appearance and how one should accept how one looks and not dwell upon it. ‘The Blackamoor’ tells us a tale of a slave with darker colored skin who tried to wash his skin color off until he realized it is who he is. The incredible characteristic of the fables are that even though Aesop did not leave a written collection, the tales have been attributed, written and rewritten numerous times as a tribute to the historically elusive author. But whether they were written by Aesop, Herodotus, or someone entirely different, they have influenced a number of anthologies of fairy tales originating in different countries. The Panchantra from India and tales from Arabian Nights are heavily influenced by the tales. Although it is hard to prove, Aesop’s fables may have single-handedly paved the path of storytelling throughout history and introduced the idea of fiction as means of pleasure for everyone, including common people.
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Samudra Manthan Surambika Pradhan (India)
Samudra Manthan or the churning of the ocean is one of the most popular and widely told legends in Hindu mythology. Every child in an Indian household has grown up listening to or reading the story of when the good and bad unite together in this mega feat of producing the nectar of immortality. The incident marked the age of Manu, the first man in the universe. The episode has been mentioned in old Hindu scriptures and epic poems.
Upon the milky clouds of heaven Indra strolled Sitting across the mighty white beast Airavat was his name He knew his mind and that of his master too For three heads had he, and three minds The mighty god of elephants On one fateful stroll, Durvasa gifted a garland In which he put all the fortunes of the world His life’s work as a tribute Indra bestowed the garland to Airavat, For Devas were to show modesty In the face of all riches Airavat knew Indra’s pride much too well And threw the garland away Greatly offending the sage As Durvasa unleashed his anger on the Devas And stripped them off of all things divine Prosperity, ardor, and fortitude The Devas’ vulnerability was now exposed By the Asuras, and they invaded To sit on the celestial throne
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A imperative visit to Vishnu ensued The Greatest and the Wisest Who knew all the answers Amrita, churned from the ocean of milk And would return the Devas all their might And bring order to the world But how does one churn the ocean so mighty It had to be done by both Devas and Asuras In unity, with integrity Mount Mandara became the churning rod But the mighty mountain sank As it touched the sand The base was summoned in form of a turtle Kurma, Vishnu’s avatar and a friend And the mountain stood tall
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Vasuki, withs its five heads and mighty tail Offered to be the churning rope The indomitable king of serpents While the Asuras held the snake’s heads Slowly poisoning themselves The Devas took hold of the tail Before however the nectar was materialized The was the treacherous poison That could kill all creation So Shiva stepped in and drank it all Till the throat it went and stopped Saving the universe
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Herbs were tossed into the milky ocean Fragrant and fresh; out came the Ratnas For one and all There was Lakhsmi, the goddess of fortune and wealth Varuni, the goddess of all seas And many a divine nymphs Kamadhenu, the sacred wish granting cow For her milk was to be used for rites Was taken by the gods There were white elephants and seven headed horse, Precious gems and blossoming trees Riches the universe had never seen But whence came the nectar of immortality for Devas Asuras wanted all for themselves Battles befell between the two And Vishnu was called to deceive the Asuras While Garuda flew away with the holy pot And then give it to Devas And so the saga ended with cheating and betrayal Decapitations and eclipses Wars and battles All this because of an animal had three minds
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Airavat - The mythical white elephant who was primarily God Indra’s vehicle. He was named the king of animals at the time of his creation, beating his 15 siblings. Yet there have been conflicts about his origin and form. One legend says he was created in the same Samudra Manthan that he caused. Amrita - The nectar of immortality that returned eternal life to the Devas. Due to the miraculous nature of the nectar, the method of acquisition was made elaborate and arduous. Asuras - Divine beings who were more malevolent than the Devas. They are sometimes referred to as demigods with superhuman strength. Since the day of creation, they have been in constant battle with the Devas over power and wealth. Devas - Heavenly beings in Hindu mythology, who possessed all the virtuous characteristics like benevolence, candor, and courage. Many legends depict the constant battle between Devas (representing the good) usually winning over the Asuras (representing the bad). Durvasa - One of the sages in Hindu mythology who was infamous for his temper and unleashing quick curses on everyone who he thought offended him. Garuda - The mythical bird-like creature who was Vishnu’s vehicle. Garuda appears in not just Indian mythology, but in Indonesian, Thai, Cambodian and Burmese mythology as well. He is given the title of ‘the king of birds’. Indra - The king of Devas and heaven, he was the god of thunder, rain, and rivers. Although an illustrious hero, he is shown possessing vanity and pride, which kept Indra from attaining the position of the Almighty. Kamadhenu - The mythical cow who has head and breasts of a woman, wings of a bird and tail of a peafowl. She bequests her owner’s wishes and provides sacred milk. Kurma - The second incarnation of Vishnu, who has the form of a turtle. Much like Vishnu, he appears in times of distress to bring harmony to the world. Lakshmi - The goddess of good fortune and wealth who comes into being during the Samudra Manthan. She then goes on to become Vishnu’s consort. Due to the prosperity she brings, she is one of the most popular and most worshiped deities in India. Ratnas - Precious gems, jewels, or other objects. Shiva - One of the holy trinity of Hindu mythology, consisting of the three principal deities, Brahma the creator, Vishnu the preserver, and Shiva the destroyer. He resides in his abode in the mountains and has many magical legends to his fame. Varuni - The goddess of the seas, who resides on the ocean with her consort Varuna, the god of sky and ocean Vasuki - Vasuki is the King serpent belonging to Shiva. The King Serpents frequently appear in Hindu legends. Vishnu - Vishnu the preserver is one of the principal deities and is widely worshiped in India, either in his true form or as one of his many incarnations. His incarnations have appeared in many ages to defeat the demons.
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Innsuei Jenna Staff (Scandinavia)
Part I
There once was a tiny squonk that lived in a tiny forest in a tiny house covered in flower petals he found on his daily walks and roof covered in snake scales which were especially good for his condition. You see, the squonk was a very sad creature. He owned no mirrors, had no friends and hid if anyone came upon him. It is not surprising to say that the squonk lived alone; entirely, completely and totally alone. In the same forest in a different house made of rose petals lived a rikatik. The rikatik would go on daily walks, too. Only he’d say “hello” to everyone. Even the tiniest flit, so small they can fit on a rikatik’s thumb, got a loud and cheerful, “HELLOOOOOooo!” And so, the two were very different. The rikatik knew everyone in the forest and could remember everyone because he had a memory like the Moss Swamp which could hold and hide just about anything. The squonk, on the other hand, knew of a few others - like the rikatik he knew of because he was just soooo loud and friendly that he was hard to ignore! The squonk got annoyed by how boisterous the rikatik could be... Saying hello to everyone, stomping around like he owns the place… Who is he anyways? Why is he so happy to see everyone? Is every single creature is his friend? Isn’t he worried about what others will think? Of course, rikatik is better looking than me. He’s so happy to see others because he’s so proud of his good looks! He’s in love with himself really, that must be why he is so friendly... he loves himself far too much!” Grumbled the squonk to himself on the occasion he would hear the gleeful greetings over the flower tops as he hid in his tiny house - happy to be hidden - but irritated all the same.
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What the squonk didn’t know was that the rikatik knew of the squonk, too! In fact, the squonk was known by all in the forest and beyond as a mysterious creature that no one has ever seen properly. There have been many glimpses by the locals, but all too quick for any to get a good look and description. Some said, “He was seven rikatiks high!” Others said, “He’s purple with feathers and gills!” And the other-others said, “There were at least four different tails on him!” After all of the accounts were taken in, and after the locals had well enough time to add and subtract what they thought was right, the consensus was that this creature was the ugliest, most frightening looking creature in the whole forest!
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But - and I say but because it is so important - but, this creature - though hideous beyond belief was also thought by all to bring exceptionally good luck to anyone who stumbled even a glimpse upon him. Those who had claimed details had had remarkable fortune in their gardens or in their trades or even in their figures. Seeing what they called not a “squonk” but an “innsuei” could bring you so much luck that you’d never have another lonely, unhappy day in your entire life. The local creatures called this lucky charm, “suei”. And so, little did the squonk know, he was in fact “the suei giver” and was the luckiest creature ever to have lived! (Nevermind his own opinion on his unlucky and miserable melancholy.)
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One day in spring the squonk was doing some cleaning, washing the scales of his roof, plucking the blades around his home and digging up the weeds in his garden. He was so busy and wrapped up in his work that he didn’t notice the rustle of the flower tops just a few feet away. “HELLLOOOO???!!” yelled a very loud, very chipper voice over the wind and stirred up his petal-siding with the hot-air. “Hello? Is there a anywho around?” Silence followed and the squonk froze mid-roof scale. The steps came closer, the squonk could see the grasses begin to part and antennae begin to emerge between them. Oh no!, thought the squonk, It’s.. it’s… “Why hello there, friend!” The face of the rikatik burst between the grass blades. The squonk ducked far too late to evade the excited, curious gaze. And though behind the roof gable, his house was nothing close to invisible. “Hello?” inquired the rikatik again, hoping for some semblance of an answer for which he received none. “Hello?!” the rikatik tried again in his most persistently friendly manner. Finally he pointed out, “You know I can see your antennae?” GULP. Poor squonk was still too frozen to his scales. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, his arms, his antennae. While the squonk sat debating his next move, the rikatik walked to the other side of the house and stared up at the absolute ugliest creature he’d ever laid eyes on. “Hi, friend!” he bellowed up. The squonk reacted to this noise from behind with an eye-shift followed by slow head-turn. “There we are!” exclaimed the rikatik happy to be somewhat acknowledged, “Was worried you were catatonic or something. You can talk can’t you?” Rikatik didn’t let the squonk’s second eye-blink for “yes, but I don’t want to” stop him from continuing to, “Well, that’s good. I always like meeting new folks! Plenty of new faces in these parts if one looks hard enough!” At this the rikatik was already tired of looking at his unresponsive, new acquaintance or “friend” as he was calling him already and began to inspect the house and garden the squonk was so busily tending to. “I’ll be, are those snake scales you’re putting up? How did you ever get those? You don’t trade with any herr-beasts do you? Not sure if I can trust a fellow who trades with them. Nasty creatures.” He said the last part almost to himself as he let this thought linger a little longer than usual. This unique break gave the squonk time to let out a confused, “No..” which gave the squonk a gentle reminder of his other words and of how to use his body parts again. He really wasn’t used to meeting anyone ever in his whole life. This was awfully frightening for him if not also annoying… he’d done such a good job at hiding from everyone and it was this chatty rikatik who stumbled upon his estate. Go figure. “No..” he continued softly as he turned to face his discoverer, “ I collect them myself.” This vocal reply jump-started the rikatik’s digressing thoughts on his one - very frightening - encounter with the local herr-beast. “Oh!” he piped, “Oh? Well, how do you go about that? I thought only herr-beasts could conjure the mists to put the snakes to sleep while they went about stealing the scales? You must have some potion, have you not? Some secret hypnosis for the snakes?” “No,” replied the squonk again, “No, I know a way…” he trailed off, fearing he reveal too much about his tricks and also himself. The squonk decided the only way to get off this topic was to distract this annoyingly nosy and awfully friendly creature. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asked blankly to the rikatik, pretending to not know though it’d be quite impossible.
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It wasn’t the best distraction but the rikatik couldn’t control his mouth. One question about himself and he explained everything in his whole world in one heart-flit. “How rude of me! I’m Rik the Rikatik!” He made an air-handshaking motion, uncertain how to interact with the squonk on the roof still. “I live about, oh, one-thousand, three-hundred and twelve steps in that direction,” he pointed towards the stream where most of the more socially-oriented creatures live, “I’ve just been made the local “friendster” actually. So my duty is to go about our area and befriend everyone, especially creatures I haven’t met before like you.” At this the squonk perked. He’d never heard of that position for good reason, he’d made himself a recluse and so had no understanding of social stations. He decided to nod and ask what that meant exactly. “Good question, mister. There’s been a terrible outbreak lately of night-terrs, those lonely folks who lose their mind and begin to get violent against everyone. They mostly forget that they’re apart of a greater thing, that they’re connected to you, me, heck the whole forest. They forget because they don’t have anyone to remind them or to keep them connected. And as you must know with your snake scale roof, without those reflectors, the night-terrs can start to develop and take over solitary folks like you. I guess I’m kind of a safety-keeper, too, just so long as I don’t have to fight anything. I don’t think I could fight a soul even if they were filled with night-terrs.” This seemed to trigger his memories again and he became quiet until he finally asked the watching squonk, “So, right, what’s your name? I’ve certainly never seen you before.” By this he meant that he had just concluded that this roll-covered, ooze sweating, rather smelly “friend” was the most hideous of creatures he’d ever seen and if he had met anyone related to him he’d definitely make a mental note. He waited politely for the squonk to reply with, “Squonk… I’m a squonk.” 42
“Squonk.” Repeated rikatik, “Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of you. Got any family around here? Maybe I know a cousin of yours?” Rikatik was trying to pry into the mysterious world of the squonk’s misfortune. “I don’t think so,” said squonk quietly, “I don’t have a family.” The squonk’s eyes went down at this because he wasn’t altogether sure that was true. He was abandoned when he was far too young to create any memories of his early life, but to his best knowledge, they’d left him to die next to the Moss Swamp because (he assumed) of just how ugly he was. “No family?!”, exclaimed the rikatik incredulously, “Oh my, oh my. Well maybe you’ve got some friends? Perhaps we even have some same ones? Know Barry Bock?” The squonk tilted his head quizzically at this assumption, “No, sorry.” he replied slowly. “Oh, okay, well maybe he doesn’t go this far from his bocktree. How about Larry Longtail? He gets about pretty well. Know him?” The rikatik was reaching, but it really wasn’t that big of a forest when it came down to it. Someone was always connected to him in some degree. “No, sorry, I don’t know him either.” The rikatik’s face fell and the squonk wondered how to distract him now? If he says he has no one this “friendster” is going to never let him be! “You wouldn’t know my friends,” the squonk began, “they’re.. quieter.” Rik seemed to try to understand this, “Quieter… I see… so quiet I’ve not met them? Ever? Must live in the ground then? Well, no matter, so long as you have someone around to talk to! I sure worry about those living so near the Wiley, if you don’t have anyone then it’s even worse! Many of stories about the wayward soul over here losing their wits and changing into, well, those night-terrs! Such a sad ordeal for everyone. I’ve had to take care of one myself, you see. Never again I tell you! Sad deal for that strump, sad deal…” 43
Again his thoughts became ensnared in his excellent memorial orb, trailing even further than before until a new thought entered his gaze and found the squonk’s sagging puss-filled eyes, “Say, you’ve got these scales somehow, haven’t you? I could sure use whatever trick you’ve got to share them with your neighbors and make sure those night-terrs don’t win-over this here valley. I could help you with all of the repair and yard work you’ve got going on,” Rik gestured to the torn-up garden obviously in need of tending, “And in return,” he continued, “You could explain to me how you get them? Would sure help a lot of critters, especially through next winter if she’s as difficult as this last one!” Wincing at this trade as well as at the thought spending so much time with Rik around, the squonk replied with slow calculation, “Well, I can do you one better, friend. You see, I can show you how I get them.” “Show me?!” replied Rik ecstatically, what a wonderful-though un-blamingly unfortunate- creature this squonk was! “You really can’t judge a book by its cover!” said Rik out loud, not realizing it was slightly offensive to point out the squonk’s obvious shortcomings, “If you could show me then that would be amazing! Would certainly help a lot of lonely creatures! Think you could take a break now? Or would you like me to help you finish up those petals first? Looks like you have a far bit to do but I think you’re okay on rain today, not a drop in the sky! Your call, squonk, what do you say?” The squonk seemed perplexed. He could use the help but if they were going to the edge of Wiley and up to the snake nests then they’d better start now rather than risk being there at dusk. “Now,” squonk concluded, “Let’s go now. I’ll get down and prepare my bag. Wait just five wisps and I’ll be ready. Why don’t you plant a few dews while you wait? That’ll be help enough for today, then tomorrow you can help with the rest. Think you can manage that, friend?” The squonk slid oily down the scale roof, over the petal siding and let Rik distract himself with finding his supplies and navigating the garden well enough to plant. Just like the squonk promised, five wisps later and he was packed and ready for a small adventure with his new friend. “I say that was no time at all!” shouted Rik, hoe in hand and sweat starting on his brow, “I almost got a whole row finished!” He gestured to his very straight line of dew bulbs sticking all too slightly out of the dirt. Sloppy, thought the squonk to himself, makes it look good but done wrong. Oh well, I’ll fix that when I return, no use in explaining sense to the unsensible. “Yes, very good, thank you.” the squonk lied, “Shall we go?” Rik set the hoe in the earth and hurried over to the squonk, “Why friend,” he chimed, “I’m always ready for an adventure!”
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