[puffyn]

Thanks, everyone, it's been fun... I'm glad my storyline didn't depend on my characters behaving the way they ought too, since they can be so finicky that way.

(Sorry for the formatting errors... tags should be correct now)


Turn 60

Let me tell you a story about Aetonyx, the trickster. He was old before any of you were hatched, but once when he was young he decided to walk around the world. He first traveled north, and came across a high desert plain, where the sun beat down every day and scorched the earth dry. Under such pleasant conditions, he smiled and snapped his tail to the passing melodies of the wind, and so engrossed in his journey was he that he almost tread upon a giant snake asleep in the sand.

Now there are only two types of snake in this part of the world, the harmless rock snake and the deadly stone viper, whose venom could kill even a lizard, who have some natural immunity to poisons, within seconds. Unfortunately, both snakes appear vary similar, and the only way to tell the difference between the two is to flip the snake over on its belly and count whether the faint star-shaped patterns have 5 points or 7. The rock snake will glare indignantly at such maltreatment, but the stone viper will strike before it is possible to finish counting the points on the stars, and thus as a practical course of action there is no way to distinguish between the two.

So being a wise lizard, Aetonyx was about to scurry away from the sleeping snake, when he noticed that the back half of the snake was curiously flatter than the front half. On closer inspection, he noted also the talon marks of a bird of prey, or perhaps several, and the claw marks of small animals, and even the abrasion of the winds, and he thought perhaps the snake was not sleeping, but dead. So he crawled a little closer, out of curiosity; and after he had satisfied himself on the matter he turned away.

There was a feeble hissing sound, and he whipped around to see the head of the snake raised now, eyes staring intently at him. "Come to finisssssssh me off, treacheroussss legged one?" hissed the snake. "Like all the other legged ones, murdererssss all, and I just a harmless rock snake asleep in the sun when they attacked." The snake coughed a little. It didn't appear to have much life left in it, and Aetonyx felt pity for it. 

"No, my friend, I am just passing by on my way around the world," he said. "I will leave you to sleep in peace." And the snake stared at him for a moment, then lowered its head, and closed its eyes, trying to soak in a few more healing rays of light, though really dusk was not far off. Aetonyx picked up a giant rock with one leg, and with a swift movement crushed the snake's head in. Then, out of curiosity, he rolled the dead snake over on its belly, and counted the number of points on the stars.

"As I expected," he murmured, and walked on.

***

Laph could tell he was there by the way Fela, in the front row, suddenly looked amused, but tried hard to hide it. A couple of other lizards in the audience were also trying hard to stifle laughter. She couldn't help but be a little impressed. Usually she heard a little crackling sound, or smelt something like burnt leaves.

"You're getting better at apparating," she said conversationally, turning to face her errant ethereal egg-brother, who was, at the moment, doing a very credible impression of a duck.

Ruli looked transparently chagrined. "How'd you know I was there?" he said. "You weren't even supposed to know I was in the same city." 

"Ruli, I'm the yarnspinner," she said. "It's my business to know." She feigned turning back around, then quickly whipped her head around just as Ruli was trying to roar like a mute lion, and solemnly shook her head at him. He sighed defeat, and there were titters from the crowd. "Now if you'll excuse me, I was about to tell them about the Conversation with a Gull."

***

When Aetonyx was walking around the world, he stopped beside a vast inland sea. In those days, the sea was much bigger than nowadays, and the warmlings who lived nearby often plied its waters in their long wooden boats. Aetonyx hoped to catch a ride to the opposite shore, so he settled on a warm, dry rock near the docks, and waited.

By and by, a giant white gull landed on a post next to him. He stared out at the sea, with a fixed concentration so unlike any scale-leaver Aetonyx had ever seen before, that after a while he began trying to catch its attention. He contorted his tail into amusing animal shapes. He juggled a few clam shells stranded by the low tide. Eventually, he got bored, and just started throwing small rocks at the gull's legs, not trying to hurt him, only to stir him up a little, for it was closing in on evening time and no boats had been seen at port all day. But the gull merely stepped nimbly over each incoming rock, absentmindedly, as if he scarcely noticed they were there.

Finally, Aetonyx gave in, and spoke. "What are you watching for, gull?" 

The bird was silent for a long while, so long that the lizard began to wonder if it had heard him. Then it turned and stared straight into Aetonyx's eyes, and intoned solemnly, "'All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying.' But the tide is going out, and will never return." It turned back to watching the sea.

"Silly gull," said Aetonyx. "The tide always comes back."

But after three days, the shoreline was farther away than ever from the rock Aetonyx where was sitting, and he decided to get as far as he could from the land that even the sea had forsaken.

***

Cole may not have participated in the storming of Marignon, but there was no force in the universe capable of stopping him from swooping majestically into the conquered enemy capitol a few days after it fell. There were standards to maintain, and a dragon couldn't very well let other people sack a major city for him.

Well, not sack, as such; more civilized heads (alas) had prevailed, and contrary to how things were done in Cole's youth, the city of his conquered foes was not burnt into charred rubble, nor were the tastiest members of the families of the vanquished opposition led to the dragon's tent at dinner time. Truth be told, the city was in sorry enough state that it looked as if a conclave of dragons had descended upon it long ago, and there was very little worth looting.

The dragon had just finished inspected the incredibly pitiful royal coffers -- "Barely enough for a sponge bath, let alone a proper swim," -- when he noticed an arch angel striding purposefully toward him. In the final days of the Marignonese war, many angels had appeared in the lizard camps, which was a little perplexing, because winged creatures do not feature highly in lizard mythology. 

The leading theory, from a young spinner of tall tales who would go very far in the burgeoning field of completely making things up, was that they had become so disillusioned with their own narrative framework that they had sought another, more rational one to work within while they battled to restore eschatological structure to their own. Cole hadn't been listening too closely, since he had noticed the sudden glint of sunlight off the roof of a nearby church, which had turned out, on closer inspection, to be a very low-grade tin.

"Greetings, oh exalted Cole, leader of the flaming sword of justice, tool of the Almighty for purging the heretics..." the arch angel began. He was worse than a mob of flagellants, because it was a lot harder to just eat an arch angel when he got annoyingly florid. Plus all those feathers give terrible indigestion. But Kiksanu quickly got to the point. 

"I humbly request your permission to banish this minion of evil into the darkness from whence he came," said the angel primly. 

Cole gazed down at a small, shrunken dark figure. If you didn't look closely, you might assume it was just another of the many anonymous undead wandering the streets of Marignon these days. But there was just the smallest hint of fire in his dull eyes, now bereft of reason...

"I'm afraid that would be a grave mistake," said Cole. 

"But... but... he is unmitigated evil," sputtered the arch angel. And then Cole understood. Somewhere, long ago, a deal had been struck for what must have seemed like an impossibly distant eventuality. Not even arch angels are incorruptible.

"I don't believe we should let our friend off so easily after all the trouble he has caused," said the dragon. "That wouldn't be the wight thing to do, now would it, Polgrave?"

This might be fun. It had been a long time since Cole had succeeded in capturing a small person; they just died too easily. There were so many useful things he could get it to do....

"How are you with roses?"

***

In the course of his walkabout Aetonyx came to a heavily forested land. The trees were tall and old, and the sky was buried in green, yet sunlight danced through the tree canopy so that underneath it was airy and light. When Aetonyx first entered the woods, he marveled at the the variety of living creatures: squirrels and rabbits and foxes and deer, here and there a bear or a wolf, and always in the trees came the song of a thousand different birds. At that distance, he mused, scale-leavers weren't so unpleasant. 

At length he came upon a village of men. It had been several weeks since Aetonyx had passed through a settled area, and he was looking forward to spending a night with other people, even if they were only warmlings. But when he reached the town in the late afternoon, it was deserted, though all the houses were neatly kept and the gardens well tended. All he saw while walking through town were a few hawks and a solitary badger, glaring at him from a rather tidy front porch. 

Aetonyx quickly moved on.

But the next village he came to, some two days later, was just the same, only this time there was a family of rabbits and a flock of crows, and the village after that contained only wildcats, sound asleep in the midday sun.

By the seventh village, Aetonyx was becoming a little concerned. There was a full moon in the sky, and the woods had taken on a menacing feel, and he wondered what sorts of strange and unnatural animals would be in this abandoned village.

But when he got to the edge of town, he was surprised to see dozens of men and women, dancing merrily around a campfire, for it was a fine summer evening. The women smiled when the saw him, and their laughter was like the wind in the trees above. The men greeted him noisily, like a pack of dogs on the arrival of a long-lost member, and he was handed food and drink until he could take no more.

The next morning, Aetonyx awoke with a bit of a headache in a deserted clearing on the edge of town. Except for the embers smoldering on the fire pit, he was hard pressed to find any sign that he had not imagined the evening before. Here and there a stray dog slept in the cool morning breeze, though he had not noticed any animals the night before...

It was then that Aetonyx determined to have as little as possible to do with the lands of man.

***

"Aha!" said Lugal.

Hema winced. The first time he had said "Aha!" the hut had burst into flames not five minutes later. The second time had resulted in a nasty plague of frogs, who had promptly scattered into every corner of the city and kept everyone awake with their incessant croaking. The third time... she was still picking bits of bloody rabbit fur out of her scales.

Lugal looked expectant. "Aha!" he said again, doggedly. Hema sighed, and hoped that this time it wouldn't be rabbits again.

"What have you found, Great-Grandfather?" 

"Only the solution to all our problems, ahem," said Lugal. He looked pleased with himself, even more so than usual.

Hema looked at the old book he was holding. She knew he couldn't read it, but this book had pictures, and on the opened page there was a drawing of a tree so tall it looked like it could shade the whole world from harm. "But Lugal," she said, reading the text. "This is far too complicated for either you or I to try."

He waved her off. "I'll have my snake look into it." He was inordinately proud of that snake, but Hema had to concede that the seige of Marignon had gone well, and ol' Feathers had done his bit. Perhaps he can get attacked by killer rabbits, she thought, with a bit of unwarranted meanness. The last few months had been terrible and long, made doubly so by the heavy burden of corrupted time.

"I don't know if even the big snake is up to this one," she said carefully. "Now, if you'll just listen to this spell I've found, I think there's a way the snake can help, using the strands of arcane power themselves to negate the..."

"Fine, fine, I'll have the snake try your thing," said Lugal. The young person had the disconcerting habit of often being right about these sorts of things. He looked glum for a moment, then brightened. "Aha!"

"What now?" sighed Hema.

"I'll have the tree-king do it. Takes one to know one, eh?" He started cackling, which turned into a coughing fit. Then his eyes lit up on the hutch of quivering mammals in the back yard.

"Who's up for lunch?"

***

At last, Aetonyx had only the southern plains to cross before he was home. But this was the most difficult step of the journey. A race of fanatical humans had recently taken up residence here, and word was strangers were burnt at the stake faster than they could say their names. The lucky ones, that is.

But Aetonyx could only forage for so long on the barren plains, so one day he was forced to enter a small fortified towns to resupply. He wore a heavy cloak, like one of their wandering monks, so that hopefully he could pass undetected, since all he really wanted was some food and water and perhaps a warm bed for the night. It was the beginning of what looked to be a bitter cold winter.

But he could not find anywhere to stay. Though nobody saw through his flimsy disguise, neither were they inclined to risk the wrath of the Inquisition for the sake of a wanderer, who would probably just freeze to death on the open plains after he left, if he knew what was best for him. Door after door shut, or refused to open, and townspeople glared menacingly at his attempts to settle into their gardens or stables, so although Aetonyx was able to slyly swipe some foodstuffs from the street merchants distractedly closing for the night, he was thwarted in his attempt to find somewhere to stay.

He found himself on the edge of town at dusk, with the temperature plummeting, and only one building left to try. He must have been a little cold-shocked already, or else he would never have entered the building, but as it is he failed to spot the shabby tin steeple and stained glass windows, noting only the partially open door, and the fire within. He slipped inside.

In the cold, it took a while for him to notice the small drab man talking at the front of the room. Aetonyx settled as close to the fire as he could to warm himself, without being drawn into the light of the room and risk discovery. The words washed over him distantly, like waves breaking on the dying sea shore, or the wind high in the tree canopy. "... deathless roar of the pounding surf... still, small voice in the wilderness... as each man dies, so death waits within... like a refiner's fire... providence in the fall of a sparrow... even death is a seed."

The old man sat down, and the people began joyously ringing bells and singing some cheery tune about smiting the unbelievers with the sword of divine love. It was clearly a high holiday, and the room was crowded, which meant no one noticed the small shivering lizard in the corner.

But Aetonyx (perhaps alone in the room) was thinking about the the words of the local yarnspinner. He had the story all wrong, of course, that much was clear; and these people had clearly gone quite crazy with their notions of what it really meant. But he could tell a story. And one day, perhaps, he thought with a smile, after they had been confined with their madness long enough, perhaps some of their hatchlings, or their hatchlings' hatchlings, would realize that they could spin the yarn quite another way, and be happy, and live.

The thought cheered him as he drifted off into sleep.