7evill
22607
Tower of a God (Far Fetched 16/18)
The first sounds of the last admonishment of our story are the rustle of two pairs of sandals on a steep gravel path. The woman’s questioning voice gets tranquil, measured, but she gets elusive answers with a conciliatory and learned tone. The man gestures towards the sky and his fine embroidered robe flutters with the intensity of his movements and the rising wind.
Similarly attired woman shoves her hands even deeper into the sleeves of her gown and deliberately lags a few steps back after the man apparently getting no answers to her inquiries. The woman, in her thirties, wrinkles her nose, forming the familiar frown of frustration that her husband knows all too well. Bowing her head she ponders that the man’s whims will take her youth, patience having been spent and eaten away already during this crazy voyage.
The man smiles behind his beard and quickly turns his eyes towards the tower at the summit of the hill, glad that he would not have to invent any excuses for a few moments while Helena is sulking. The rising sun created long shadows behind the travelers.
They reach a disheveled village, Dorian, with just a few huts at the base of the hill, its inhabitants just rising for the day’s work.
Especially one was eyeing the man and woman intently from his hiding place on the corner of the stables. His gaze moved from the old man’s body to her younger wife, lingered for a moment, and then crawled up the hill to the sun-framed tower above. He motioned for the others who carried long curved knives at the ready.
“Cicero? The tower looked tall from afar, built on this high hill, but up close its height boggles the mind. It looks like it reaches to the heavens.” Helana said and squinted her eyes standing on a rock trying to see the top of the tower at its base.
“That’s true; it is a marvelous and curious piece of history of my people. Not even very far removed. You wouldn’t believe it but those Siidonian cedar wooden doors with their bronze hasps and iron nails are just a few generations older than us, Well, me at least...”
As he said this Cicero extended his arm and helped his wife down from her vantage point and both of them stepped into deeper shadow of the gateway. The whitish bricks were chiseled smooth and glistened from the morning dew. The door was big and wide enough for two men in full armor to go in side by side; it was adorned with gold and silver. Truly dignified, like a hallowed gate door should.
Cicero was more interested in the alcove wall,”If this truly is the King’s temple tower, as I begin to hope it is. I am seeing the same kind of craftsmanship and measured handiwork like the one I felt as a young boy when I touched the temple’s face before. But in my time all of the stonemasons were building a temple and this could be only one of those journeymen or one of their son’s work, and not a part of the temple we are looking for.”
“How could it be? The temple resides in another land completely and you were witnessing its construction with your very own eyes, albeit just a boy, with your brothers by your side.”
The gold and silver glimmered from the ornate gate in the moist eyes of Cicero when they rise to meet her woman’s eyes.
”Hearkeneth and stab at my heart no longer. I know the location of the temple, and as for the reason that I do not follow my father’s wishes and worship the King, nor the Watcher; I would rather forget gladly.” He said with a quiet voice while moving his attention towards the gate. Helena would have liked to say something to comfort him, maybe take back her words, but she knew his inner workings all too well. Instead she inspected the gate very carefully.
After a moment passed Cicero turns to Helena aghast. “The gold and silver has been inlaid with a pleasing way and skill, but at the place of honor, where its owner’s name was engraved, it has been fouled; turned unrecognizable. Like a sordid rogue has stolen the precious metals.”
“But who would dare perform such an evil deed? Who would be such a vile villain that, as a guest, would violate a temple gate with such nefarious intent?” The very though made Helena shiver.
“Mayhaps not a guest, but an enemy.” said Cicero as he pushed his wrinkled hand on the door. It opened silently. They both entered.
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Copacetic = jees
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Cell (Far Fetched 17/18)
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"I can hear her waining. This foresight mantra should not work here..."
The stairs went further up, further and further still. The iron railings carried them impossibly high, to the point that they disappeared beyond view. Details in the silver and gold inlays and reliefs of the banisters were intricate in detail. Cicero climbed the stairs and looked upon the next door landing. It looked the same than the ones they had passed before. It too was opulently ornamented by the smart hands of craftsmen with the same familiar iron studs and bronze hasps.
He looked downwards and saw the vestibule floor in the distance. When they had entered there had been only the stairway. No other way to take but the steps and the gate that they had passed… and the stairs. Reaching the first door they stopped and when Cicero was about to put his hand on the horsehead-knob, Helena said, “It is not very polite to open doors without introducing ourselves properly first. Declare our arrival to the master of the house?”
“You are right of course.”
So Cicero raised his voice and announced himself, the son of Jahat and his wife Helena had come for a visit. They waited for a moment without receiving an answer. Cicero repeated his message and they waited some more. The inside of the tower was cold and the only light came through the small holes in the walls. Helena looked at his attentively listening husband and put her hand on the door handle. At that moment Cicero whispered, “I heard something upstairs, an answer to our call. Let’s go, our host waits!”
They started ascending. Helena let her gaze linger for a moment at the first door’s decorations which had been abused like the ones outside. Probably at the same place that had spelled the owners' name.
Helena passed Cicero on the stairs and pulled him from the sleeve of his cloak. “You might want to call again. I’m beginning to think that this tower is abandoned and you just heard the echo of your own voice.”
“We must be patient, for I am sure that we are at the temple tower. And the one that lives here will receive us with open arms.” Ecstasy shivered over excitedly under the thin veneer of the man’s voice and frosty breath.
Cicero quickened his step and started to climb the stairs two at a time. Helena, being stronger, kept easily at pace with him.
“How is it possible that the towers base is here and not…” She let her voice succumb to a mumble for fear of insulting the man like she had done down at the entryway.
“This is the tower of the King, by my soul I’m sure of it. This tower was and is the tallest in the temple, but separated from its unity!” Cicero sighs almost out of breath.
“We don’t have to open any doors on our way; they are just chambers of the master. When we get upstairs all the answers will envelop us like finest silk.”
After saying this they rushed upstairs on the cedar-stairs filled with hope. Both had their own foreboding inside.
The journey was long, longer than any stairway ought to be. Still they continued their way, even as the sunlight was fading out of the cracks in the walls. Maybe the night was falling or the light was fading for a different reason? He was beginning to have a frightful thirst and his legs were demanding respite. Enthusiasm had got him to forget time and sanity until he’d reach his goal. He slowed his step and turned around to search for Helena. She was already by his side and not even panting. Helena did not seem to be tired at all despite their harrowing climb.
“Wife, do you have anything for me to drink? We have walked many hours and my mouth is parched like desert sand. Do we have anything refreshing, water or wine?”
“We don’t have any provisions, because the trek to the tower was shorter (that is wrong somehow?) than it has now shown itself to be, husband. I am also very thirsty and in need of rest.”
Cicero wiped his face with the back of his hand. Sighing once again he looked up and saw that they were not that far from the summit. Upstairs there was a door at the last landing.
And it was ajar more inviting than any invigorating drink a man’s soul could consume. "Ah! Higher, master waits" thought Cicero.
"What is happening!", Helena said as she followed.
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“The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.”
― Elie Wiesel
Unfading Recollection (Far Fetched 18/18)
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Narrator - Cicero
This is a fable that was once told me by a candle-light. I quite vividly remember laying down and feel
